: tilll 

TH"-^ 



IB 



iffi 




^''-•i-HflBilli 

ffl$8w wStwm 

■ 
P 

w 




Wimmm 



IlillliSHi 
liliBI 




Glass. 
Book. 



' 



4/ 



.". 



'.' 




BALLADS AND LYRICS 



BY 



CHARLES MACKAY, 



INCLUDING 



Legends of the Isles,-" "Ballads and Lyrical Poems,' 7 "Voices 
from the Mountains," "Voices from the Crowd;" 
and "Town Lyrics." 



Wxfy Illustrations bo $obn d>Hb*rt. 




LONDON: 
ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE, 

FARRINGDON STREET; 

NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET. 

1859. 



E 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



This Collection includes the " Legends of the Isles," 
illustrative of the romantic scenery and history of the 
Hebrides, and the adjoining mainland of Scotland, 
originally published at Edinburgh in the year 1845 ; 
the " Ballads and Lyrical Poems," issued in the same 
year; three smaller volumes, published in London 
at intervals from 1846 to 1849, under the titles of 
" Voices from the Mountains," " Voices from the 
Crowd," and " Town Lyrics." The Author has re- 
vised and corrected these volumes for the present 
edition, and redistributed under these several head- 
ings the several poems originally published. Some 
pieces have been omitted which either seemed to be 
of temporary interest, or to be otherwise unsuited 
for republication ; and others have been added from 
the sources where they were first published. 



CONTENTS, 



SfejjMtta tA % fsles ml f ijpttfo §ntytfmp. 



Page 

The Highland Ramble 1 

The Sea-King's Burial 11 

The Dance of Ballochroy . . 20 
St. Columba ; or, the Count- 
ing of the Isles 33 

The "Dream," by Beauly, 

Ross-shire 41 

The Invasion of the Norse- 
men 45 

The Eve of Flodden 57 

Lord Nithsdale's Dream in 
the Tower of London .... 68 



Page 
The Kelpie of Corryvreckan 63 

The Shoal of Whales 73 

The Witch of Skerrievore . . 80 
The Burn of Aberiachan . . 84 
The Wraith of Garry Water 88 

The King's Son 95 

The Lady of Duart's Ven- 
geance 104 

The Bridge of Glen Aray . . 109 
The Planting of the Acorns 115 

The Fall of Foyers 119 

Foyers before the Fall 120 



Hitite anir f pal pm 



The Old and the New 1 

The Coming Time 13 

Tubal Cain 14 

The Founding of the Bell . . 16 

Life's Companions 20 

Castles in the Air ... 23 



A Candid Wooing 26 

The Voice of the Time .... 27 
The Cry of the People— 1845 30 

A Lover's Logic 34 

Real and Ideal 35 

Head and Heart .,....»... 44 



V) 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Little Fools and Great Ones 47 

Lost and Won 49 

The Death of Pan 52 

Love Aweary of the World 55 
The Lover's Second Thoughts 

on World-Weariness .... 57 

The Drop of Water 59 

The Dionysia, or Festivals of 

Bacchus 65 

Young Genius 69 

The Vision of Danton 75 

Good-Night 79 

Good-Morrow 80 

A Song after a Toast 81 



My Playfellow 8 

Love in Hate 84 

Lady Jane 86 

The Praise of Women .... 89 

Serenity 90 

The Building of the House 91 
The History of a Pair of 

Eyes 9 

Ninette 9 

The Quarrel 101 

The Bridge 104 

The Two Nightingales 105 

The Wanderers by the Sea 109 
A Traveller's Tale 113 



; 



Mm torn i\t itatems. 



Mountain Streams 1 

Melodies and Mysteries. ... 4 
The Man in the Dead Sea . . 6 

The Follower 15 

We are Wiser than we 

Know 20 

The Child and the Mourners 22 

The Water Tarantella 25 

The Earth and the Stars . . 30 

The Young Earth 32 

The Golden Madness 37 

The Out-Comer and the In- 

Goer 41 

The Drop of Ambrosia 46 

Now 49 



.. 



The Vision of Mockery .... 
The King and the Nightin- 
gales 61 

Evermore — Nevermore .... 65 

The True Companion 67 

Welcome Back 68 

A Lover's Fancies 70 

The Nine Bathers 71 

Two Mysteries 77 

The Confession of Ahasuerus 78 

A Reverie in the Grass .... 88 

Love or Wisdom 92 

Follow your Leader 95 

The Death Banquet of the 

Girondins 98 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



Mas ton t\t Cwtofo anft fltoftm f pa 



Page 
The Watcher on the Tower 1 

Clear the Way 4 

The Good Time Coming 6 

The Wants of the People .. 9 

The Three Preachers . . 11 

Old Opinions 14 

Daily Work 17 

An Emigrant's Blessing 19 

Railways 21 

The Fermentation 23 

The Poor Man's Sunday Walk 26 
A Welcome to Louis Philippe 29 
The Dream of the Reveller. . 32 
The Poet and the Political 

Economist 36 

To a Friend afraid of Critics 40 

British Freedom 44 

The Dying Mother 46 

Freedom and Law 49 

To Impatient Genius 54 

Phe Golden City 56 



The Deposition of King Clog 60 

Street Companions 64 

The Light in the Window . . 67 

Mary and Lady Mary 71 

Above and Below 75 

John Littlejohn 77 

The Poor Man's Bird 80 

Unknown Romances 82 

The Floating Straw 84 

A Question Answered .... 86 

What might be Done 88 

The Mowers 90 

Said I to Myself, said I 94 

An Appeal to Paris 98 

Thoughts 101 

Cleon and 1 102 

The Phantoms of St. Sepul- 
chre 104 

The Little Moles 110 

Let us alone. 113 

Eternal Justice 116 



$jegtrifrs jcrf t\t fsks, &% 



PROLOGUE, 



THE HIGHLAND KAMBLE, 

*< We three are young : we have a month to spare 
Money enough ; and, whistling off oar care. 
We can forsake the turmoil of the town, 
And tread the wilds — making our faces brown 
With sunshine, on the peaks of some high Ben. 
Let us away, — three glad, unburden'd men — 
And trace some mountain-torrent to its source, 
'Mid fern and heather, juniper and gorse, 
Braving all weathers. I, with gun, one day 
Will cater for you, and go forth to slay 
The grouse in corries, where they love to dwell ; 
Or sit with you upon some granite fell, 
And talk for hours of high philosophy, 
Or sun ourselves in warmth of poesy : 
And should these tire, with rod in hand, we'll go 
To streams that leap — too frolicsome to flow — 
Angling for trout, and catch them by themselves, 
In fancied citadel, beneath the shelves 



Z LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Of slippery stone, o'er which the waters rush. 

Let us away. My cheeks and forehead flush 

At the mere thought ; so glad would be my soul 

To be alone with Nature for one whole 

(Jntrammeli'd month — having no thought of dross, 

Or dull entanglements of gain and loss ; 

Of Blackstone drear, or Barnewall's Reports, 

Or aught that smells of lawyers and the courts. 

Let us away, this pleasant summer time, 

Thou, Karl, canst muse, and shape the tuneful 

rhyme 
Amidst thy well-beloved hills and straths : 
Thou, Patrick, canst ascend the mountain-paths, 
Thy well-fill'd flask in pocket, and rehearse 
Plain prose with me, as genial as his verse ; 
And wet or whet each argumental flaw 
With running waters dash'd with usquebaugh." 

Thus Alistor, a Templar keen and young, 
Of a clear head, and of a fluent tongue, — 
Subtle logician, but with earnest mind, 
And heart brimful of hope for human kind, 
Spake to his friends ; and him, with voice of cheer, 
Answer'd the rhymer : " Half one toilsome year 
I've moil'd in cities, and, like thee, I long 
To see the placid lochs, the torrents strong, 
The purple moors, the white rocks crimson-crown'd, 
And amber waters, in their depths embrown'd. 
One month of freedom from the drowsy thrall 
Of custom, would be health, joy, wisdom, all, 
To us who know each other, and delight 
To be let loose into the infinite 



THE HIGHLAND RAMBLE. i 

Of our own fancies — free from task and rule, 

And all the stiff conventions of the school 

Of the great world. Our tyrant, lean-faced Care, 

Shall not pursue us to the mountain air, 

If we play truant. Let us hence away, 

And have one month of pleasure while we may." 

Patrick, the rough in speech, the true in heart, 
A sculptor, born to elevate his art, 
And loving it with fervour such as burn'd 
In old Pygmalion's spirit, when he yearn'd 
For the sweet imao-e that his hands had made, 
Shouted consent. " But whither bound % " he 

said ; 
" What far-off mountain summit shall we scale % 
What salt-sea loch, winding through many a vale, 
Shall we explore, or shall we rather glide 
Through lakes inland, unruffled by a tide? — 
Not that it matters. Thou, friend poet, know'st 
Better than we all grandeurs of the coast : 
The lochs, the straths, the hoary-headed Bens, 
The windy corries, and the wild green glens, 
And all the thunderous waterfalls that leap 
Betwixt the Atlantic and the German deep ; 
And we will follow, if oar guide thcu'lt be, 
By Lomond, Linnhe, Lochy, or Maree ; 
Through Boss-shire moors, to Hebridean isle, 
Or 'mid the lordly mountains of Argyll, 
"Where'er thou wilt." The poet made reply, 
With a keen pleasure sparkling in his eye : 
"There is a valley, beautifully lone, 
Bude of access, to few but hunters known : 
b 2 



4 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

A glen so full of gray magnificence, 

Of rock and mountain, that with love intense, 

Salvator's self, if thither he had stray'd, 

Might, rapture-struck, a dwelling-place have made 

Of some wild nook. There, fill'd with ecstasies, 

He might have sat, his spirit in his eyes, 

And all his mind impregnate, till he wrought 

On the dumb canvas an immortal thought. 

But not all rude and gloomy is the vale : 

Ye wild-thyme odours, floating on the gale ; 

Ye tufts of heather, blooming on the slopes ; 

Ye birch-trees, waving from the rocky copes 

Of many a hill, your brows festoon'd in braids, 

Or drooping, like the locks of love-lorn maids ; 

Ye dark-green pines ; ye larches, fan-like spread ; 

And ye, witch-scaring rowans, gleaming red ; 

Ye flowers innumerous, earth-jewels fair, 

That lift your eyelids to the morning air ; 

And all ye torrents, that with eloquent voice 

Call on the mountain echoes to rejoice, 

And sing, amid the wilderness, a song 

Of jubilant gladness, when the floods are strong ; 

Attest the wild luxuriance of the scene 

That lengthening spreads (with many a strath between, 

And purple moorland, haunt of birds and bees) 

Around the fern-clad feet and shaggy knees 

Of mighty Nevis ! monarch of the hills, 

The paramount of mountains, gemm'd with rills, 

Scantily robed, his Titan-shoulders nude, 

Lifting his head in royal solitude 

Above his peers, and grimly looking down 

Over all Britain from his misty crown ! " 



THE HIGHLAND RAMBLE. O 

Thus spake the rhymer; and between them three 
Was made a binding compact, suddenly, 
That they should waken with the morning sun, 
And journey northwards. As was said, was done. 
Borne on the wings of steam ten leagues an hour, 
They cali'd it slow, but bless' d its mighty power; 
And thought awhile, in pensive wonder dumb, 
Of greater triumphs in the days to come ; 
When Distance, — dim tradition of the Past, 
Worn-out idea, too absurd to last, — 
Should bar no more the enterprise of man, 
Nor Time compress his efforts to a span ; 
When docile lightnings, tether d to a wire, 
Should turn to messengers at his desire, 
And beariug thoughts from Europe to Cathay, 
Start at the dawning, and return ere day : 
And of the social evils that should cease 
In the new age of intercourse and peace ; 
When War, old tyrant, bloody-faced and pale, 
Should yield his breath, run over on the rail ; — 
Crush'd by the car of Steam, no more to rise, 
To fill the world with tears and agonies. 

Short was their stay, nor turn'd they ev'n aside 
To view the mighty city of the Clyde, 
The great metropolis of plodding folk, 
Tall chimneys, cotton, enterprise, and smoke ; 
But bound for Crinan while the morn was new, 
Bade to the lovely Firth a fond adieu. 

Clear was the sky ; the sea reflected back 
The morning lustre, as they held their track 



b LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

By Rothesay, through the Kyles ; and evermore 
Some varied beauty woo'd them from the shore 
To gaze upon it. Green hills speck'd with sheep, 
Or juttiug rocks that nodded o'er the deep ; 
And here and there, some mighty boulder- stone . 
Roll'd from a precipice to stand alone — 
Memento of convulsious that had wrung 
The hills to agony when earth was young. 

High to the south, majestic Arran rear'd 
Its jagged peaks, storm-batter'd, riv'n, and sear'd ; 
And blue Lochfine, enswathed by mountains dun, 
Display'd her teeming bosom to the sun, 
And raised her ripples to reflect the light, 
While graceful sea-gulls, plumed in snowy white, 
Follow'd the creaming furrow of the prow 
With easy pinion pleasurably slow; 
Then on the waters floated like a fleet 
Of tiny vessels, argosies complete, 
Such as brave Gulliver, deep wading, drew 
Victorious from the forts of Blefuscu. 

And sweet to these rejoicing mariners 
Were Crinan's banks, o'ergrown with sunny furze, 
With berried brambles, spotted fox -glove bells, 
Like Mab's pagodas, built on pigmy fells, 
With hawthorn bushes, purple-crested heath, 
And orchis and anemone beneath, 
In plenteous beauty. Disembarking here, 
Fresh for the exercise, and full of cheer, 
They walk'd rejoicing onward, staff in hand, 
Across the isthmus, nine good miles of land, 



THE HIGHLAND RAMBLE. 7 

And left the lingering track-boat in the locks, 

While they went scrambling over briery rocks 

For heather sprigs, to grace their caps of blue ; 

Then on again, rejoicing in the view 

Of fertile valleys dotted black with kine, 

And hills knee-deep in tamarisk and pine ; 

Discoursing as they went of mica-schist, 

The old red sandstone, and the great "Fire mist." 

Of nebulae — exploded ; and the birth, 

Myriads of ages past, of a young earth, — 

Still young and fresh, though venerably old ; 

And of the wondrous tale in " Cosmos" told, 

Of heavenly architecture infinite, 

Suns, systems, groups, revolving in the light 

Of beauty eternal, and eternal law, — 

Of infinite love, magnificence and awe. 

And thus the hours were rapidly consumed 
In furnace of their thought, and toil entomb'd 
In mental working ; so that when the sea 
Burst on their startled vision suddenly, 
They doubted if their eyes beheld indeed 
Loch Crinan, and those seas that, like a mead 
Sprinkled with flow'rs, were studded o'er with isles 
But soon they knew them gleaming in the smiles 
Of an unclouded sun ; and once again 
Stepping on ship-board, steam'd along the main. 



Most lovely, oh, most beautiful and grand 
Were all the scenes of this romantic land ! 
Isle after isle, with gray empurpled rocks, 
Breasted in steadfast majesty the shocks, 



8 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Stupendous, of the wild Atlantic wave ; 

Many a desolate sonorous cave 

Re- echoed through its inmost vaults profound 

The mighty diapason and full sound 

Of Corryvreckan — awful orator — 

Preaching to lonely isles with eloquent roar; 

Many a mountain rear'd its lordly crest, 

Bronzed or empurpled by the radiant west ; 

Many a hill-girt rock indented far 

The mainland ; many a high and frowning scaur, 

The haunt of sea-fowl, raised its barren form, 

Furrow'd with age, defiant of the storm ; 

And over all this hazy realm was spread 

A halo of sad memories of the dead : 

Of mournful love-tales ; of old tragedies, 

Filling the heart with pity, and the eyes 

With tears, at bare remembrance ; and old songs 

Of love's endurance, love's despair, love's wrongs, 

And triumph o'er all obstacles at last ; 

And all the grief and passion of the past. 

Invoking these to daylight from the womb 

Of dim tradition, into fuller bloom 

Of their fresh fancy, greater ravishment 

Was it to them to ponder as they went 

Upon each legend in its own sad place, 

To which it lent a beauty and a grace. 

And when they reach'd the rock-bound shore of 
Mull, 
A land of driving sleets and vapours dull, 
But fill'd with mournful grandeur and austere 
Magnificence, the Western wave shone clear 



THE HIGHLAND RAMBLE. 



9 



In the last beams of day. The dying light, 

Ere it departed, swathed each mountain- height 

In robes of purple ; and adown the west, 

Where sea and sky seem'd mingling — breast to breast — 

Drew the dense banks of ponderous clouds, and spread 

A mantle o'er them of a royal red, 

Belted with purple — lined with amber — tinged 

"With fiery gold — and blushing-purple fringed. 

And gorgeous was it o'er the Western Isles 
To gaze upon the sunset 'mid those piles 
Of mountainous clouds. They rear'd their sunny copes 
Like heavenly Alps, with cities on their slopes, 
Built amid glaciers — bristling fierce with towers, 
Turrets and battlements of warlike powers — 
Jagged with priestly pinnacles and spires — 
And crown'd with domes, that glitter'd in the fires 
Of the slant sun, like smithied silver bright ; — 
The capitals of Cloudland. When the light 
Grew paler, and the Eastern dark came down, 
And o'er the mystery drew his mantle brown, 
'Twas lovely still to watch the shore and sea 
Bobed in the garment of obscurity ; 
To see the headlands looming through the mist, 
As if dissever'd from the earth, they wist 
Not altogether of which element 
They were a part, indissolubly blent. 

The lights of Oban glimmer'd faint and far, 
And over Cruachan shone out one star 
Attendant on the moon ; who, issuing forth 
Yellow and full, display'd to all the north 



I 

10 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Her matron face, and o'er each eastern hill 

Pour'd sleepy lustre. Beautifully still 

Lay Lochlin in her beams — Lochlin whose breast 

"Wafted so oft the chieftains of the west 

To bloody warfare ; Lochlin that of yore 

The galleys of the Gael to battle bore 

Against the men of haughty Innisfail ; 

Lochlin of storms, where Fingal spread his sail 

To meet Cuchullin ; Lochlin of the spears ; 

Blue Lochlin of the songs of other years. 

A mournful sea it was, a mournful shore ; 

But yet so lovely,- vestured in the hoar 

Antiquity of many memories, 

That they regretted when their watchful eyes 

Descried Fortwilliam and their journey's end, 

And great Ben Nevis, corried, strath'd, and glenn'd, 

Rising before them. Soon the sorrow pass'd, — 

For they had reached a resting-place at last, 

Where for a season they might feed Delight 

On Beauty, and in worldly Care's despite 

Give themselves up to Nature — not in part, 

But with all energy of mind and heart, — 

That, ere returning to the world again, 

That little month might make them better men. 

And what they talk'd of, what they dream'd or sung, 

What tales they told, or beads of fancy strung, 

What aspirations of a better time, 

Thev form'd for men, behold in rhythm and rhyme. 



mBk-_ * 




THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL. 11 



THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL. 

[" The old Norse kings, when about to die, had their body laid into a 
ship ; the ship sent forth with sails set, and slow fire burning in it, that, 
once out at sea, it might blaze up in flame, and in such manner bury- 
worthily the old hero, at once in the sky and in the ocean." — Carlyle's 
Hero Worship.'] 



" My strength is failing fast," 

Said the Sea-king to his men ; — 
" I shall never sail the seas 
Like a conqueror, again. 
But while yet a drop remains 
Of the life-blood in my veins, 
Raise, oh, raise me from the bed ; — 
Put the crown upon my head ; — 
Put my good sword in my hand ; 
And so lead me to the strand, 
Where my ship at anchor rides 

Steadily ; 
If I cannot end my life 
In the bloody battle-strife, 
Let me die as I have lived, 

On the sea." 

ii. 

They have raised King Balder up, 
Put his crown upon his head ; 



12 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

They have sheath'd his limbs in mail, 

And the purple o'er him spread; 
And amid the greeting rude 
Of a gathering multitude, 
Borne him slowly to the shore — 
All the energy of yore 
From his dim eyes flashing forth — 
Old sea-lion of the North ; — 
As he look'd upon his ship 

Riding free. 
And on his forehead pale 
Felt the cold refreshing gale, 
And heard the welcome sound 

Of the sea. 

TIL 

" Hurra ! for mighty Balder ! 

As he lived, so he will die ! 
Hurra ! hurra ! for Balder !" 

Said the crowd as he went by. 
" He will perish on the wave, 

Like the old Yikinger brave; 

And in high Valhalla's halls 

Hold eternal festivals ; 

And drink the blood-red draught 

None but heroes ever quaff'd, 
With Odin and the spirits 

Of the free. 

In the fire, or in the wreck, 

He will die upon the deck, 
And be buried like a monarch 

Of the sea." 



THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL. 13 



IV. 

Old Balder heard tlieir shouts 

As they bore him to the beach ; 
And his fading eye grew bright 
"With the eloquence of speech, 
As he heard the mighty roar 
Of the people on the shore, 
And the trumpets pealing round 
"With a bol<f triumphal sound, 
And saw the flags afar 
Of a hundred ships of war, 
That were riding in the harbour 

Gallantly, 
And said Balder to his men — 
And his pale cheek flush'd again — 
" I have lived, and I will die 

On the sea." 



They have borne him to the ship 
With a slow and solemn tread ; 
They have placed him on the deck 

With his crown upon his head, 
Where he sat as on a throne ; 
And have left him there alone, 
With his anchor ready weigh'd, 
And the snowy sails display 'd 
To the favouring wind, once more 
Blowing freshly from the shore ; 
And have bidden him farewell 

Tenderly ; 



14 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Saying, " King of mighty men, 
We shall meet thee yet again, 
In Valhalla, with the monarchs 

Of the sea." 

VI. 

Underneath him in the hold 

They had placed the lighted bi*and ; 
And the fire was burning slow 
As the vessel from the* land, 
Like a stag-hound from the slips, 
Darted forth from out the ships ; — 
There was music in her sail 
As it swell' d before the gale, 
And a dashing at her prow 
As it cleft the waves below, 
And the good ship sped along, 

Scudding free. 
As on many a battle morn 
In her time she had been borne, 
To struggle, and to conquer 

On the sea. 

VII. 

And the King with sudden strength 
Started up, and paced the deck, 

With his good sword for his staff, 
And his robe around his neck ; — 

Once alone, he waved his hand 

To the people on the land ; — 

And with shout and joyous cry 

Once again they made reply, 



THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL. 15 

Till the loud exulting cheer 
Sounded faintly on his ear; 
For the gale was o'er him blowing, 

Fresh and free ; 
And ere yet an hour had pass'd, 
He was driven before the blast, 
And a storm was on his path, 

On the sea. 

VIII. 

And still upon the deck — 

While the storm about him rent, 
King Balder paced about 

Till his failing strength was spent. 
Then he stopp'd awhile to rest — 
Cross'd his hands upon his breast, 
And look'd upward to the sky, 
With a dim but dauntless eye ; 
And heard the tall mast creak, 
And the fitful tempest speak 
Shrill and fierce, to the billows 

Hushing free; 
And within himself he said, 
" I am coming, oh, ye dead ! 
To join you in Valhalla, 

O'er the sea. 

IX. 

" So blow, ye tempests — blow, 

And my spirit shall not quail ; 

I have fought with many a foe ; — 

I have weather'd many a gale ; 



16 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 

And in this hour of death, 
Ere I yield my fleeting breath — 
Ere the fire now burning slow 
Shall come rushing from below, 
And this worn and wasted frame 
Be devoted to the flame — 

I will raise my voice in triumph, 

Singing free ;- 
To the great All-father's home 
I am driving through the foam, 

I am sailing to "Valhalla, 

O'er the sea. 



" So, blow, ye stormy winds — 

And ye flames ascend on high; — 
In the easy, idle bed 

Let the slave and coward die ! 
But give me the driving keel, 
Clang of shields and flashing steel ; — 
Or my foot on foreign ground 
With my enemies around ! 
Happy, happy, thus I'd yield, 
On the deck or in the field, 
My last breath, shouting on 

< To Victory. 
"But since this has been denied, 
They shall say that I have died 



Without flinching, like a monarch 



Of the sea." 



17 



XI. 

And Balder spake no more, 

And no sound escaped bis lip ; — 
And lie look'd, yet scarcely saw 

The destruction of his ship ; 
Nor the fleet sparks mounting high, 
Nor the glare upon the sky; — 
Scarcely heard the billows dash, 
Nor. the burning timber crash ; — 
Scarcely felt the scorching heat 
That was gathering at his feet, 
Nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him 

Greedily. 
But the life was in him yet, 
And the courage to forget 
All his pain, in his triumph 

On the sea, 

XII. 

Once alone a cry arose, 

Half of anguish, half of pride, 
As he sprang upon his feet, 

With the flames on every side. 
"I am coming!" said' the King, 
" Where the swords and bucklers ring-— 
Where the warrior lives again 
With the souls of mighty men — 
Where the weary find repose, 
And the red wine ever flows ; — 
I am coming, great All-Father, 

Unto thee ! 



18 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Unto Odin, unto Thor, 

And the strong true hearts of yore — 
I am coming to Valhalla, 



O'er the sea.' 



XIII. 



Bed and fierce upon the sky 

Until midnight, shone the glare, 
And the burning ship drove on — 

Like a meteor of the air. 
She was driven and hurried past, 
'Mid the roaring of the blast. 
And of Balder, warrior-born, 
Naught remain'd at break of morn, 
On the charr'd and blacken'd hull, 
But some ashes and a skull; 
And still the vessel drifted 

Heavily, 
With a pale and hazy light 
Until far into the night, 
"When the storm had spent its rage 

On the sea. 

XIV. 

Then the ocean ceased her strife 
With the wild winds lull'd to rest, 

And a full, round, placid moon 
Shed a halo on her breast ; 

And the burning ship still lay 

On the deep sea, far away; 



THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL. 19 

From her ribs of solid oak, 

Pouring forth the flame and smoke ; 

Until, burnt through all her bulk 

To the water's edge, the hulk 
Down a thousand fathoms sunk 

Suddenly, 

With a low and sullen sound ; 

While the billows sang around 
Sad requiems for the monarch 

Of the sea. 



c2 



20 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHEOY. 



" If e'er you woo'd a loving maid, 
And having won her, you betray'd, 
Beware, Lord Edward, thoughtless boy, 
Nor pass the hills of Ballochroy. 

II. 

"For there, 'tis said, the livelong nights 
The sward is trod by elves and sprites, 
And shadowy forms of maids departed, 
And ghosts of women broken-hearted. 

III. 

"And aye they dance a mystic round 
Upon these knolls of haunted ground, 
And sing sweet airs till break of day, 
To lure the traveller from his way. 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 



21 



IV. 



" Though if your soul from guilt be clear, 
Bide boldly on ; — you need not fear ; 
For pleasant sounds, and sights of joy, 
Shall hem you round on Ballochroy. 



v. 



" But if you've brought a maid to death 
By guileful words and breach of faith, 
Shut ear and eye, nor look behind, 
Nor hear their voices on the wind. 



VI. 



"They'll seek your senses to entrance — 
They'll woo you to their airy dance ; 
And press, with winning smiles and quips, 
Their melting kisses to your lips; 



VII. 



" And every kiss shall be a dart 

That through your lips shall pierce your heart ; 

For short the life and short the joy 

Of those who dance on Ballochroy." 



VIII. 



Lord Edward laugh'd his words to scorn — ■ 
" I must be wed to-morrow morn ; 
Your idle tale I may not hear; 
I cannot linger from my dear." 



22 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



IX. 

He gave the reins to his dapple gray, 
And o'er the mountain rode away; 
And the old man sigh'd, "I wish him joy- 
On the haunted hills of Ballochroy ! " 



And three miles west, and three miles north, 
Over the moorland went he forth, 
And thought of his bonny blushing May, 
The fairest maid of Oronsay. 



XI. 

And he thought of a lady dead and gone — 
Of Ellen, under the kirk-yard stone ; 
And then he whistled a hunting-song 
To drown remembrance of a wrong. 



XII. 

But still it came. " Alas ! " thought he, 
" I fear she died for love of me : 
Soft be her sleep in the fresh green sod- 
I trust her spirit is with her God. 

XIII. 

"But to-morrow is my bridal day 
With the bonnie Bell of Oronsay ; 
From her no fate my soul shall sever, 
So let the past be past for ever." 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 23 



XIV. 

And still lie whistled his hunting-tune, 
Till high in the heavens arose the moon, 
And had no thought but of future joy, 
Till he came to the hills of Ballochroy. 

xv. 

And there, beneath a birken-tree, 
He found a lady fair to see, 
"With eyes that might the stars eclipse, 
And a smile upon her ripe red lips. 

XVI. 

Her garments seem'd of azure bright, 
Her dainty hands were rosy white, 
And her golden hair so long and sleek, 
Fell clustering o'er each glowing cheek. 

XVII. 

He gazed upon this bonnie May, 
Fairer than Bell of Oronsay, 
Fairer than Ellen, dead and gone, 
Or any maid the sun shone on. 

XVIII. 

" Oh, lady dear ! the night is chill, 
The dews are damp upon the hill, 
A fitful wind begins to moan — 
What brings thee here so late alone 1 " 



2-1 



LEGENDS 0E THE ISLES. 



XIX. 



Tlie lady blush'd, and on her tongue — 
Timid — the faltering answer Lung — 
" I Lave come for thee, dear lord," she said, 
And on his arm her hand she laid. 



xx. 



" For I have loved thee long and well, 
More tLan a maiden ought to tell, 
And I sit beneath this birken-tree 
To pass one hour of love with thee." 



XXI. 



He sprang from his steed of dapple gray, 
And at the lady's feet he lay ; 
Her lily hand in his he press'd, 
And lean'd his head upon her breast. 



XXII. 



Her long fair tresses o'er him hung, 
As round his neck her arm she flung; 
Her beauty charm'd both touch and sight- 
His pulse beat quicker with delight : — 



XXIII. 



" Oh, lady dear ! these eyes of mine 
E~ever saw beauty like to thine ! 
Those loving lips, oh, let me kiss ! 
Never was rapture like to this 1 " 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 25 

XXIV. 

She smiled upon him as he spoke, 
And on his ear these accents broke ; 
" Deep was the love for thee I bore — 
Thou shalt be mine for evermore. 

XXV. 

"Come to my bower — 'tis fair to see, 
And all prepared, dear lord, for thee ; 
Come !" and such smiles her face suffused, 
He had been stone had he refused. 

XXVI. 

His heart was full, his reeling brain 
Felt the sharp pleasure prick like pain ; 
And his eyes grew dim with love and joy 
On the haunted hills of Ballochroy. 

XXVII. 

On every side — above — below — 
He heard a strain of music flow, 
Dying in murmurs on his ear, 
Gentle and plaintive, soft and clear. 

XXVIII. 

Anon a bolder voice it took, 
Till all the air with music shook — 
A full, inspiring, martial strain, 
Heaving like waves upon the main. 



26 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XXIX. 

Amid the tangling flowers and grass 
The fitful echoes seem'd to pass ; 
And then it sank, and sweet and slow, 
Mingled the notes of joy and woe ; — 

XXX. 

Then changed again : a jocund lay- 
Hose 'mid the tree-tops far away ; 
And brisk and light, and tuned to pleasure, 
Floated in air the merry measure. 

XXXI. 

And nearer as the rapture came, 

He felt its power in all his frame ; 

His pulse beat quick, his eyes grew bright, 

His limbs grew supple with delight. 

XXXII. 

With throbbing heart and loving, look, 
The lady by the hand he took ; 
And as she smiled, her fairy feet 
Moved to the measure brisk and sweet. 

XXXIII. 

He would not, if he could, resist, 
Her beauty wrapp'd him like a mist ; 
And gliding with her, kind yet coy, 
They danced the dance of BaUochroy. 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 27 



XXXIV. 



He clasp'd her round the dainty waist, 
Their glowing hands were interlaced; 
And now they glided — now they flew — 
And tripp'd in circles o'er the dew. 



xxxv. 



And still the music sounded high 
The full free tide of harmony ; 
Responsive still to every note 
Their nimble footsteps seem'd to float. 



XXXVI. 



And now they bounded, now they tripp'd, 
With panting pleasure, open-lipp'dj 
And brisker, merrier, louder still 
Sounded the music o'er the hill. 



XXXVII. 

Faint with the joy, he craved delay ; 
But no — his limbs refused to stay, 
And danced impulsive to the sound, 
And traced a circle on the ground. 

XXXVIII. 

There seem'd a film before his eyes — 
He saw new shapes of beauty rise ; — 
They seem'd to gather at the tune 
Between him and the western moon. 



28 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XXXIX. 

In robes of azure and of green, 
Amber and white, and purple sheen — 
A troop of maidens young and fair, 
With sparkling eyes and flowing hair. 

XL. 

And as before his sight they pass'd, 
Each maid seem'd lovelier than the last, 
And smiled upon him as she came, 
With looks of love, and eyes of flame. 

XLI. 

Then smoothing back their tresses bright, 
They join'd their fingers long and white, 
And lightly shook their sparkling feet 
To the glad measure as it beat. 

XLII. 

And as the fairy round they danced, 
And now retreated, now advanced, 
Their noiseless footsteps on the sod 
Left a green circle where they trod. 

XLIII. 

Like dragon-flies upon a stream, 
Or motes upon a slanting beam, 
They parted — met— retired — entwined 
Their loose robes waving in the wind. 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHItQY. 29 

XLIV. 

Transparent as the network light 
Spun by the gossamer at night, 
Through every fold each rounded limb 
Shone warm and beautiful, but dim. 

XLV. 

Dazzled and reeling with delight, 
He turn'd away his aching sight, 
Then fell exhausted in a swoon, 
In the full radiance of the moon. 

XLVI. 

Not long endured his soul's eclipse ; 
He felt warm kisses on his lips, 
And heard a voice in accents clear 
Breathe a soft whisper in his ear, — 

XLVII. 

" Rise, my dear lord ! shake off this trance, 
And join my sisters in their dance ; 
'Tis all to give thee joy they play ; 
My hand shall guide thee — come away!" 

XLVITI. 

He rose ; — her bright eyes brighter shone, 
Raining kind looks to cheer him on ; 
"While the celestial music still 
Roll'd its glad echoes o'er the hill. 



30 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 



XLIX. 



And once again the dance they twined — 
They seera'd like feathers on the wind — 
Their hands they waved, their feet they twirl' d— 
They ran, they leap'd, they tripp'd, they whirl'd. 



But as he danced his eyes grew dim, 
His blood ran thick through every limb; 
And every face, so fair and bright, 
Appear'd distorted to his sight. 

LI. 

The lustre of their eyes was gone, 
Their cheeks grew wrinkled, pale, and wan ; 
Their fair plump arms grew shrivell'd skin, 
Their voices hoarse, and sharp, and thin. 

LII. 

Bloodshot and blear, and hollow-eyed, 
Each raised her finger to deride ; 
And each, more hideous than the last, 
Chatter'd and jabber'd as she pass'd. 

LIII. 

And with discordant yell and shout, 

They wheel'd in frantic droves about, 

And gibing, in his visage, scowl'd, 

And inoan'd, and shriek'd, and laugh' d, and howl'd. 



THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. S\ 



LIV. 



Again he fell in speechless dread ; 
And then came one with drooping head, 
And looks all pity and dismay, 
And gazed upon him where he lay. 



LV. 



Her glancing eyes were black as jet, 
Her fair pale cheeks with tears were wet; 
And beauty, modesty, and grace 
Strove for the mastery on her face. 



LVI. 



He knew her well ; and, as she wept, 
A cold, cold shudder o'er him crept : 
'Twas Ellen's self! ah, well he knew 
That face so fair — that heart so true ! 



LVJI. 



He felt her tear-drops fall" and flow, 
But they were chill as melted snow ; 
Then looking on her face, he sigh'd, 
Felt her cold kiss, and shivering — died 



LVIII. 



Next day, with many an anxious fear, 
His father sought him far and near; 
And his sad mother, old and gray, 
"VVept with the bride of Oronsay. 



32 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



LIX. 



They found his body on the knoll, 
And pray'd for mercy on his soul ; 
And his bride a widow's weeds put on, 
And mourn'd Lord Edward, dead and gone. 



LX. 



If you have brought a maid to death 
By guileful words and breach of faith — 
In weal or woe, in grief or joy, 
Beware the hills of Ballochroy ! 



«-^<5^&#5>=5i-^» 




iis§i saw 



ST. COLUMBA. 33 



ST. COLUMBA ; OR THE COUNTING OF THE ISLES. 

[The following legend, -with some slight variation, is current in the 
Hebrides. One version states, that the Saint takes his stand upon the 
■walls of the ruined cathedral of Iona, and counts the isles ; but makes 
no mention of the ghostly company introduced into the ballad.] 

I. 

Hush'd were the winds, and not a breath 

Disturb'd the peaceful sea, 
And even to Staffa's echoing caves 
The large, uneasy, western waves 

Came beating quietly; 
Starless and moonless was the night, 

And on the waters lay, 
Like silence palpable to sight, 

Thick wreaths of vapour gray. 

II. 

Far in the west, 'mid rain and mist, 

Upon the deep afloat, 
"Without an oar, without a sail, 

Came down a little boat : 
Amid the mazes of the isles 

By hands unseen propell'd, 
By frowning scaur, through whirlpool roar, 

Its noiseless way it held ; 
Like a shadow gliding, dark and slow, 
Unwitting how the winds might blow. 



34 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



III. 



And at the stern, with downcast eyes, 

And hands upon his breast, 
There sat the figure of a man, 

Serene, like one possess'd 
With peaceful thoughts, that quite absorb'd 

All faculties combined, 
So that his sight, to left nor right, 

Ne'er wander'd from his mind, 
Nor his ear heard the murmur low 
Of waters cleaving at the prow. 

IV. 

Down through the seas, where Lewis afar 

The dim horizon streaks ; 
By Skye, where lordly Cuillens rear 

Their high fantastic peaks; 
Ey Ronan and her sister isle; 

By Coll and green Tiree ; 
And by the giant crags of Mull 

That frown upon the sea ; 
By XJlva's isle and Fingal's cave, 
Palace and wonder of the wave ; — 

V. 

Still on — still on — till morning dawn 

The boat pursued its way : 
Still on — still on — till night, slow-drawn, 

Through sleet and vapour gray, 
It held its course amid the Isles, 

Nor stopp'd by night or day; 



ST. COLUMBA. 35 

And still the figure, heeding nought, 
Sat silent, gat herd in his thought. 

VI. 
Behind the boat, the waters shone 

With phosphorescent light — 
Slow from the keel, like glancing steel, 

The waves fell off, all night. 
At length, far looming through the mist 

That now from heaven upclear'd, 
Iona, sepulchre of kings, 

The holy isle, appear' d — 
The Culdee's bower, the place of graves, 
The fair green "island of the waves." 

VII. 

The moon, new risen, look'd forth from heaven, 

And purpled every height, 
And waves upheaved their silvery sides, 

Rejoicing in the light — 
And mountain tops, with radiance touch'd, 

Look'd placidly below, 
As onwards to Iona's isle 

The boat went gliding slow; 
And the lone traveller stepp'd on shore, 
Leaning upon the staff he bore. 
t 

VIII. 

A long loose mantle wrapp'd his limbs, 

A cowl conceal'd his head; 
And meek yet lordly was his look, 

And solemn was his tread. 
d 2 



36 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

And lo — to meet hiin on the beach, 
A pale and shadowy band, 

Barefoot, bareheaded, holding each 
A taper in his hand, 

Came in long line from Oran's shrine, 

And gather'd on the strand. 



IX. 

No word was said, no sign was made, — 

Spectres all pale and wan, 
"With earthward looks — 'mid silence deep- 

Their noiseless march began. 
And slow they follow'd where he led; 

And, moved as by a blast, 
The doors of St. Columba's kirk 

Flew open as they pass'd, 
And show'd the lights on roof and wall 
Lit up for solemn festival. 



x. 

And choral voices sweet and clear, 

Drawn out in cadence long, 
Re-echoed through the vaulted aisles 

Attuned to holy song ; 
And music like a flowing tide 

From organ-pipes unseen, 
Pour'd forth a full majestic strain 

Each solemn pause between ; 
And myrrh and incense fill'd the air, 
And shadowy lips were moved in prayer. 



ST. COLUMBA. 37 

XI. 

Each, damp and moss-grown sepulchre, 

Each vault and charnel cold, 
Each grassy mound let forth its dead, 

And from th' enfettering mould 
Dim shadows of departed kings, 

Sceptred and robed and crown' d, 
And mitred bishops, meek and pale, 

And abbots cowl'd and gown'd, 
Came thronging in the moonlight gray- 
In long impalpable array. 



XII. 

And fierce Yikinger, swathed in mail, 

Pallid and gaunt, stood forth, — 
Old pirates, that to spoil the land 

Had issued from the North. 
Lords of the Isles, and Thanes, and Jarls, 

Barons and Marmors grim, 
With helm on head and glaive in hand, 

In rusty armour dim, 
Besponsive to some powerful call 
Gather'd obedient, one and all. 



XIII. 

And now the choral voices hush'd, 
And ceased the organ tone ; 

As to the altar-steps, high raised. 
Sad, silent, and alone, 



3S LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

The traveller pass'd. — To him all eyes 

Turn'd reverent as he trod, 
And whispering voices, each to each, 

Proclaim'd the man of God — 
Columba, in his ancient place, 
Radiant with glory and with grace. 

XIV. 

Back fell his cowl — his mantle dropp'd, 

And in a stream of light, 
A halo round his aged head, 

And robed in dazzling white — 
The saint with smiles of heavenly love 

Stretch'd forth his hands to pray, 
And kings and thanes, and monks and jarls, 

Knelt down in their array, 
Silent, with pallid lips compress'd, 
And hands cross'd humbly on their breast. 



XV. 



He craved a blessing on the Isles, 

And named them, one by one — 
Fair western isles that love the glow 

Of the departing sun. — 
From Arran looming in the south, 

To northern Orcades, 
Then to Iona back again, 

Through all those perilous seas, 
Three nights and days the saint had sail'd, 

To count the Hebrides. 



ST. COLUMBA. 



XVI. 



He loved them for Iona's sake, 

The isle of prayer and praise, 
Where Truth and Knowledge found a home 

When fallen on evil days. 
And now he bless'd them, each and all, 

And pray d that evermore, 
Plenty and peace, and Christian love, 

Might smile on every shore, 
And that their mountain-glens might be 
The abiding-places of the free. 

XVII. 

Then, as he ceased, Kings, Abbots, Earls, 

And all the shadowy train, 
Hose from their knees, and choral songs 

Re-echoed loud again — 
And then were hush'd — the lights burn'd dim, 

And ere the dawn of day, 
The saint and all the ghostly choir 

Dissolved in mist away : 
Aerial voices sounding still 
Sweet harmonies from Duni's hill. 



XVIII. 



And every year Columba makes, 
While yet the summer smiles, 

Alone, within his spectral boat, 
The circuit of the isles ; — 



40 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

And monks and abbots, thanes and kings, 
From vault and charnel start, 

Disburied, in the rite to bear 
Their dim, allotted part, 

And crave, upon their bended knees, 

A blessing on the Hebrides. 



THE "DREAM," BY BEAULY, ROSS-SHIRE. 41 



THE " DEEAM," BY BEAULY, EOSS-SHIEE. 

[The high hanks of the Beauly, near Kilmorack, in Ross-shire, are 
Covered with birch-trees, ascending to a great height, with occasionally 
rocks, fir- plantations, and mountain-paths to vary the scene ; and the 
river foaming and breaking into numerous falls below. This magnificent 
tract, which extends about three miles, is termed "the Dream," a name 
that seems to harmonize with the wild beauty of the landscape. The 
true orthography, however, is the Drhuim, signifying, in the Gaelic lan- 
guage, bridge. — The Highland Note-book, by R. Carruthers.] 



In Lomond's isles the rowans grow, 

In sweet Glennant the lintocks tarry, 
And grand is Cruachan by Loch Awe, 

And bonny are the birks of Garry. 
Beloved spots ! — yet dearer far, 

And cherish'd in my heart more truly, 
Are sweet Kilmorack's lingering falls, 

The lovely "Dream" and banks of Beauly. 

ii. 

The joyous river runs its course, 

Now dark and deep, now clear and shallow; 
And high on either side the rocks 

Bise, crown'd with mosses green arid yellow; 
And birks, the "damsels of the wood," 

So slim and delicately shaded, 
Stand in the clefts, and look below, 

With graceful forms and tresses braided. 



42 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



III. 

And rowans flourish on the heights, 

"With scarlet bunches thickly studded, 
And brambles, heavy-laden, trail 

Their luscious berries purple-blooded ; 
And on the bosom of the hills, 

Wooing the bees, the modest heather 
"Waves to the wind its hardy bells, 

And blossoms in the wildest weather. 



IV. 

Oh that I might, 'mid scenes like this, 

In the fresh noon of life and feeling, 
Build up a bower where I might dwell, 

All nature to my soul revealing. 
Far from the bustling crowds that swarm 

'Mid the great city's endless riot, 
How happily my days would flow 

In converse with these woodlands quiet ! 

v. 

Unmindful of the hollow pomp 

And festering coronet of splendour — 
Heedless of Fame, and all the din 

Of shouting voices that attend her; — 
With leisure, when my fancy led, 

To roam the glen or forest thorough, 
To climb the mountain-top, and trace 

The torrent upward, by its furrow. — 



THE "DREAM," BY BEAULY, ROSS-SHIRE. 43 



VI. 

To let the winds in stormy nights 

Blow in my hair; to tread the heather 
In tempest and in calm alike, 

Braving, plaid-bound, the roughest weather ;- 
To hold communion night and day 

With Nature — to her bosom turning 
Aye for relief— and from her face 

New hope, new joy, new wisdom learning. 

VII. 

Oh for a bower where I might dwell 

In this contemplative seclusion, 
"With wealth sufficient for the wants 

Of temperate Nature — not profusion. 
A cottage on the green hill-side, 

Sacred to friendship, love, and duty — 
A garden fair, with trees for fruit, 

And some for shadow and for beauty. 

VIII. 

Here, not unmindful of my kind, — 

Flying the world, but never scorning, — 
My voice, to solemn lay attuned, 

Or cheerful as the lark's at morning, 
Might reach the crowds that I had left, 

And bear my thoughts to many a dwelling 
Where human hearts might throb to hear 

The tale I would delight in telling. 



44 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



IX. 



The tale, or song, whose burden still, 

Serene or glad, should preach to sorrow, — 
That sunshine follows after rain, 

And after darkest night a morrow; — 
That those who strive with evil days, 

If their own strength they would but measure, 
Might turn endurance into joy, 

And outward woe to inward pleasure; 



That earth, though fill'd with care and grief, 

Has joy for those who wisely seek ifc ; 
That if the heart be truly taught, 

It may defy the world to break it ; — 
That love and virtue are not names, 

But things, to those who prize them given; 
And that the more we love our kind, 

The more our bliss in earth and heaven. 



XI. 

But fare thee well, sweet Beauly stream ! 

Upon thy banks I may not linger; — 
My task is set, my daily toil 

Beckons me hence with ruthless finger. 
Farewell, and when in cities pent, 

I'll cherish thy remembrance duly, 
And long for autumn days again, 

To lead my footsteps back to Beauly 



THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 45" 



THE INVASION OF THE NOESEMEN. 



Haco, king of Norway, call'd his men of might, 

Sea-captains and Vikinger — his veterans in fight ; 

And set sail for Scotland's coast 

With a well-apparell'd host, 

Fully twenty thousand strong — 

When the summer days grew long — 

In the fairest fleet that ever the North Sea billows bore, 

To harry it, and pillage it, and hold it evermore. 



II. 

Mile on mile extended, o'er the ocean blue, 

Sail'd the ships of battle, white and fair to view— • 

Running races on the sea, 

With their streamers waving free, 

From their saucy bows all day 

Dashing up the scornful spray, 

And leaving far behind them, in the darkness of the 

night, 
Unborrow'd from the firmament, long tracks of liquid 

light. 



46 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

III. 

Past the isles of Shetland lay the monarch's path, 

Round the isles of Orkney and the Cape of Wrath, 

'Mid the Islands of the West 

That obey'd his high behest — 

The Lewis, and Uist, and Skye, 

And the countless isles that lie 

Between the wide Atlantic and Albyn's mountains 

brown, 
And paid him homage duly, and fealty to his crown. 

IV. 

Music and rejoicing folio w'd on their way, 

Drinking and carousing nightly till the day. 

Every sailor in the fleet 

Felt his heart with pleasure beat, 

Every soldier in the ships 

Had a smile upon his lips, 

As he drank, and saw, in fancy, reeking sword and 

flaming brand, 
And the rapine, and the violence, and the carnage of 

the land. 

v. 

Not amid the mountains of the rugged North 
Would the mighty Haco send his legions forth ; 
Not by highland loch or glen 
Would he land his eager men ; — 
Not on banks of moorland stream 
Were their thirsty swords to gleam ;— • 



THE INVASION OF THE NOESEMEN. 47 

But further to the southward, from the rocks of bare 

Argyll 
To the sloping hills of Renfrew, arid the grassy meads 

of Kyle. 

VI. 

In the vales of Carrick, smiling by the sea, 

In the woods of Lennox, in the Lothians three, 

There was fatness all the year — 

There were sheep and fallow-deer — 

There was mead to fill the horn — 

There were kye and there was corn, — 

There was food for hungry Norsemen, with spoil to 

last them long, 
And lordly towers to revel in, with music and with 



VII. 

Like scarts upon the wing, by the hope of plunder led, 
Pass'd the ships of Haco, with sails like pinions spread. 
But the tidings went before 
To the inland, from the shore ; 
And from crag to mountain crag, 
At the terror of his flag, 

Arose a cry of warning, and a voice of loud alarm, 
That call'd the startled multitudes to gather and to 
arm. 

VIII. 

Every mountain-summit had its beal-fire bright ; 
All Argyll, ere sunset, crown'd its hills with light, 



48 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

And from Morven to Cantyre 
Lit the chain of signal-fire ; 
From Cantyre to Cowal's coast 
Blazed a warning of the host 

Of savage Norse invaders that to spoil and harry came, 
With their lust and with their hunger — with the 
pword and with the flame. 



IX 

Glen call'd out to mountain — mount to moorland 

brown, 
Tillage call'd to village, town gave voice to town ; — 
And the bells in every tower 
Rang the tocsin hour by hour, 
Until old Dunedin heard, 
And the Lothians three were stirr'd, 
And sent their yeomen westward to struggle hand to 

hand 
For their wives and for their children, for their home 

and native land. 

x. 

Wives had no endearment for a laggard lord ; 

Maidens had no love-looks and no kindly word 

For the lover who was slow 

To march out against the foe. 

Even maids themselves put on 

Coat of mail and habergeon ; 

Threw the snood off for the helmet, left the distaff for 

the spear, 
To die for sake of Scotland, with a sire or lover dear. 



THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 49 

XI. 

Young King Alexander raarch'd his legions forth, 
From eastward to the westward, from southward to 

the north : 
High his flashing falchion gleam'd, 
In his blue eye valour beam'd, 
In his heart high courage glow'd, 
As in pride of youth he rode 
With the flower of ScotIand c s people, to defend her 

sacred soil, 
And repel the Norse marauders that came down for 

blood and spoil. 

XII. 

With him rode the Comyn, grown in battles gray, 

With a thousand bowmen ready for the fray, 

With a tongue to give command, 

And a rough untiring hand ; 

With a cheek in combat scarr'd, 

And a soul to pity hard ; 

When he drew his sword for battle, and flung away 

the sheath, 
It was death to him who struggled with the Comyn of 

Monteith. 

XIII. 

And the Bishop of St. Andrew's, a priest but in his 

name, 
In his heart a soldier, with all his warriors came. 
And the stalwart Earl of Fife 
Led his vassals to the strife — 

£ 



50 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 

Full a thousand fighting-men, 
Strong of hand and sharp of ken, 
And ready each to die at the bidding of his lord ; 
But readier still for Scotland to draw the avenging 
sword. 



XIV. 

From his northern mountains and his lochs afar 

March'd the Earl of Caithness, ready aye for war, 

With his pibroch sounding shrill 

To his clansmen of the hill ; 

And the Earl of March, new wed, 

Left his happy bridal bed 

At the first war-cry of danger that broke upon his 

ears, 
And join'd King Alexander, with twice a thousand 

spears. 



XV. 

Thirsting for the conquest, eager for the fray, 

Haco sail'd by Arran at the dawn of day ; 

But as up the Firth of Clyde 

He came proudly with the tide, 

Bose a storm upon the deep, 

And with wild and fitful sweep 

Howl'd aloft amid the rigging ; while the sun look'd 

pale and wan, 
Through the clouds and driving vapours as the tempest 

hurried on. 



THE INVASION OF THE NOKSEMEN. 51 

XVI. 

To tlie ship of Haco came his stan chest men — 

Holder, Sweno, Ratho, Hingst, and Innisfen, 

Irminsule, and Loke and Harr, 

Each a chieftain fierce in war ; 

In the foray, hand to hand, 

On the sea or on the land ; 

Loving fighting more than counsel, blazing torch than 

morning shine ; 
The foremost in the battle, and the hindmost at the 



XVII. 

Short was Haco's counsel, and the sigual flew 

From captain on to captain, from crew again to crew, 

That by Largs, ere noon of day, 

They should land within the bay, — 

And through all the ships there ran 

A rejoicing, man with man, 

That the hour had come at last, when the sword should 

leave its sheath, 
And the cloth-yard shaft its quiver for the revelry of 

death. 

XVIII. 

Scotland's king was ready — -Scotland's patriot men, 
Marshall'd round their monarch from mountain, strath, 

and glen, 
And from every height around 
Seem'd to issue from the ground. 
e 2 



52 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Thirty thousand men that day- 
Met the Norsemen in the bay, 
And fought, but not for pillage, nor for glory in the 

strife, 
But for God and for their country — for their freedom 

and their life. 



Loud the shock resounded on the battle-field, 

Clink of sword and buckler, clang of spear and 

shield j 
Whirr of arrows in the blast, 
On their errand flying fast ; 
And a shouting loud and high, 
And a shrill continuous cry, 
From either side arising, as th' impetuous legions 

met, 
And the green fresh sward was trodden deep, and 

dank, and gory-wet. 

XX. 

Loud the voice of Haco sounded 'mid the fray, 
Alexander's louder cheer'd the Scots that day ; 
And the kings press'd on to meet, 
Through the arrows thick as sleet, 
Through the living and the dead, 
Holding high the dauntless head — 
To fight in single combat, and to struggle hand to hand, 
For the glory of the battle and the mastery of the 
land. 



THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 53 

XXI. 

And the fierce Earl Comyn sought the Norseman 

Harr ; 
The Bishop singled Eatho from the ranks of war ; 
And the Earls of March and Fife, 
In the sharp-contested strife, 
Fought with Irminsule and Loke, 
Thrust for thrust, and stroke for stroke ; 
And the Earl of Caithness drove the haughty Innisfen 
Back again into the ocean with a hundred of his men. 

XXII. 

Harr fell deadly wounded by the Comyn's blade ; 

Ttatho fled to seaward, faint and sore dismay'd ; 

While Loke, with mortal wound, 

Fell exhausted on the ground, 

And Hingst sank down to rest 

With the death-shaft in his breast ; 

When a sudden panic seized on the whole Norwegian 

foe, 
And they fled like flying dust, when the Norland 

tempests blow. 

XXIII. 

Down upon them swooping in their sudden rout, 
Came King Alexander with exulting shout — 
Crying, " Strike for Scotland's sake, 
And a bloody vengeance take 
For the insult borne too long — 
For the centuries oi wrong, — 



54 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

For the murder and the ravage they have done within 

our lands ; — 
Down upon them, Scottish hearts ! Strike, and spare 

not, Scottish hands !" 

XXIV. 

Fighting, flying, struggling — with his scatter'd host 
Haco saw, despairing, that the day was lost. 
Of his twenty thousand men 
"Not a third were left him then, 
The fearful tale to tell 
Of the slaughter that befel ; 

And Haco, iron-hearted, who had never wept before, 
"With his hands his pale face cover'd, and sobb'd upon 
the shore. 

xxv. 

Flying their pursuers, faint, with pallid lips, 

Haco and his captains stagger'd to their ships ; 

And ere nightfall, many a one, 

That had sail'd when day begun 

As if life were in her sides 

To defy the winds and tides, 

Was driven before the tempest, her tall mast snapp'd 

in twain, 
A helpless wreck on Arran, ne'er to sail the seas again. 

XXVI. 

Through the Kyles, storm-batter'd, Haco held his way, 
By Cantyre and Islay on to Colonsay : 



THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 55 

And when dawn'd the morning light 

Not a vessel was in sight, 

But his own ship scudding by 

On the gloomy shore of Skye, 

Dismantled 'mid the hurricane that still around him blew, 

"With danger all around him and a spirit-broken crew 

XXVII. 

Thus he sail'd to Orkney : but by night nor day, 

To his men around him, did one word betray 

All the anguish of his heart — 

Though at times a sudden start, 

And a short uneasy pace, 

And the flushing of his face, 

Show'd the grief and rage within him, as he mourn'd 

with silent lips 
For his hope of conquest lost, for his sailors and his 

ships. 

XXVIII. 

In the bay of Kirkwall, shelter'd from the gale, 

His sad crew dropp'd their anchor, and furl'd the 

tatter'd sail. 
And the King was led on shore, 
"Weak, and faint, and spirit-sore, 
Seeing — heeding — knowing nought 
But his own despairing thought — 
A thought of bitter shame, that he had not died that 

day, 
With his face towards the mountains, in the thickest 

of the fray. 



56 LEGENDS OF THE ISLE3. 

XXIX. 

To his couch they led him, once so bold and strong, 

And they watch'd beside him tenderly and long ; 

But all human care was vain 

To relieve him of his pain : 

So the mighty Haco died 

In his sorrow and his pride, 

And they buried him in Orkney ; and Norsemen 

never more 
Set sail to harry Scotland, or plunder on her shore. 



->~54&£*^£&k£!Xr~ 



THE EVE OF FLODDEN. 57 



THE EVE OF FLODDEN. 

[" Tn the church of Linlithgow is shown the aisle where an apparition 
burst upon the sight of James IV., to warn him against the expedition, 
and which, as Lindsay of Pitscottie relates, as soon as it had delivered its 
message, ■ vanished like a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind.' 
When the invading army was encamped upon the Boroughmuir, numberless 
midnight apparitions did squeak and gibber upon the streets of Edinburgh, 
threatening woe to the kingdom, and there was a spectral procession of 
heralds, who advanced to the Cross, and summoned the king and a long 
list of nobility to their final doom."] 



Who are these so dim and wan, 
Haggard, gaunt, and woe-begone ! 
Who in suits of silvery mail 
Wander in the moonlight pale, 
Through Dunedin's narrow street, 

Sad and slow, 
And with mournful voice repeat, 

Singing low — 
"Dim the night, but dark the morrow — 
Long shall last the coming sorrow, — 

Woe to Scotland, woe 1' 

II. 

Helm on head and sword in hand, 
Whence this melancholy band? 
Even the banner that they bear 
Droops dejected on the air, 



58 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

As they walk with noiseless tread 

To and fro, 
And the sleeper from his bed 

Rises slow, 
Listening to that chant of sorrow — 
"Dim the night, but dark the morrow — 

Woe to Scotland, woe !" 



in. 

What they are, and their intent — 

Whence they come, and whither bent — 

If they come from kirkyard cold, 

Or are men of mortal mould, 

No one knows; — but all night long, 

As they go, 
There is heard a doleful song, 

Clear, but low, — 
" Deep the grief that's now beginning, 
Scotland's loss is England's winning — 

Woe to Scotland, woe !" 



IV. 

Never yet Dunedin's street 
Saw such ghastly warriors meet. 
Now upon the Cross they stay; 
And a radiance clear as day, 
When the day is dim and chill, 

Seems to glow 
All around; and from the hill 

Overflow 



THE EVE OP FLODDEN. 59 

Gable, tower, and steeple-crosses, 
And the lonely wynds and closes : — 

"Woe to Scotland, woe!" 



v. 

One steps forward from the rest, 
Stately, gaunt, and richly dress'd; 
And they form a circle round, 
Sadly looking to the ground ; 
And a summons loud and shrill 

Sounds below, 
Downwards from the Calton Hill 

Passing slow; 
Then a trumpet-call to rally 
Echoes over mount and valley — 

" Woe to Scotland, woe ! : 



VI. 

Then the lingering echoes die 
Faint and fainter on the sky, 
And the spokesman of the band 
[Raises high his mail'd right hand, 
And exclaims with earnest voice, 

Speaking slow : 
" Long will Scotland's foes rejoice : — 

Hearts shall glow 
At recital of our story, 
And of Scotland's faded glory. 

Woe to Scotland, woe! ! 



60 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



VII. 



" Nought shall bravely avail ; 
Dust before the wild March gale 
.Flies not faster than shall fly 
Scotland's proudest chivalry, 
Boyal Stuart, when thy might 

Stricken low, 
Shall be scatter'd in the fight 

By the foe, 
And thy fairest ranks be trodden 
On the bloody field of Flodden. 

Woe to Scotland, woe 

VIII. 

" Crawford, Huntley, and Montrose ! 
Loud your shrill war-trumpet blows ; — 
Home and Bothwell ! high in air 
Flaunt your banners free and fair; — 
Lennox ! well your stalwart men 

Wield the bow; — 
Fierce and fleet from hill and glen 

On the foe, 
From wild Cowal to the Grampians, 
Rush, Argyll ! your stoutest champions ; — 
Woe to Scotland, woe ! 



IX, 



" But in vain shall they unite ; 
And in vain their swords shall smite; 



THE EVE OF FLODDEN". 61 

And in vain their chiefs shall lead ; 
Vainly, vainly shall they bleed ; — 
England's hosts shall smite them down 

At a blow, 
And our country's ancient crown 

Be laid low ; 
And for warrior's death-cold sleeping 
Long shall last the wail and weeping — 

Woe to Scotland woe !" 



Thus he speaks, and glides away, 
Melting in the moonlight gray : 
And the pale knights follow on 
Through the darkness, and are gone. 
But all night is heard the wail 

Bising slow, 
As the pauses of the gale 

Come and go, — 
"Dim the night and dark the morrow; 
Long shall last the coming sorrow — 

"Woe to Scotland, woe 



~-*z£g£ftg£r£Z>-* 



62 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 



THE KELPIE OF CORRYYRECKAN. 



[This story is a common one in the Western Isles, and among all the 
northern nations of Europe. Some of the incidents bear a resemblance to 
the Danish ballad of "The Wild Waterman," a translation of which was 
made into German, by Goethe.] 



He mounted his steed of the water clear, 
And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere ; 
He held his bridle of strings of pearl, 
Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl. 

II. 

He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth, 
Soft and dainty as velvet cloth, 
And donn'd his mantle of sand so white, 
And grasp'd his sword of the coral bright. 

in. 

And away he gallop'd, a horseman free, 
Spurring his steed through the stormy sea, 
Clearing the billows with bound and leap — 
Away, away, o'er the foaming deep ! 



THE KELPIE OP CORRYVRECKAN. 63 

IV. 

By Scarba's rock, by Luoga's shore, 
By Garvelocli isles where the breakers roar, 
"With his horse's hoofs he dash'd the spray, 
And on to Loch Buy, away, away ! 

V. 

On to Loch Buy all clay he rode, 
And reach'd the shore as sunset glow'd, 
And stopp'd to hear the sounds of joy 
That rose from the hills and glens of Moy. 

VI. 

The morrow was May, and on the green 
They'd lit the fire of Beltan E'en, 
And danced around, and piled it high 
With peat and heather and pine-logs dry. 

VII. 

A piper play'd a lightsome reel, 
And timed the dance with toe and heel ° 3 
While wives look'd on, as lad and lass 
Trod it merrily o'er the grass. 

VIII. 

And Jessie (fickle and fair was she) 
Sat with Evan beneath a tree, 
And smiled with mingled love and pride, 
And half agreed to be his bride. 



64 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

IX. 

The Kelpie gallop'd o'er the green — 
He seem'd a knight of noble mien, 
And old and young stood up to see, 
And wonder'd who the knight could be. 



His flowing locks were auburn bright, 
His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash'd light; 
And as he sprang from his good gray steed, 
He look'd a gallant youth indeed. 

XI. 

And Jessie's fickle heart beat high, 
As she caught the stranger's glancing eye; 
And when he smiled, " Ah well," thought she, 
"I wish this knight came courting me!" 

XII. 

He took two steps towards her seat — 
" Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet 1" 
He took her lily-white hand, and sigh'd, 
"Maiden, maiden, be my bride!" 

XIII. 

And Jessie blush'd, and whisper'd soft — 
" Meet me to-night when the moon 's aloft ; — » 
I've dream' d, fair knight, long time of thee — 
I thought thou earnest courting me." 



THE KELPIE OF CORRYVftECKAN. 65 



XIV. 



"When the moon her yellow horn display' d, 
Alone to the trysting went the maid ; 
When all the stars were shining bright, 
Alone to the trysting went the knight. 



xv. 

" I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well, 
Maiden, oh more than words can tell ! 
Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine; 
Maiden, maiden, be thou mine !" 

XVL 

" Fair sir, thy suit I'll ne'er deny — 
Though poor my lot, my hopes are high ; 
I scorn a lover of low degree — 
None but a knight shall marry me." 

XVII. 

Ke took her by the hand so white, 
And gave her a ring of the gold so bright ; 
" Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine — 
Maiden, maiden, now thou'rt mine 1" 

XVIII. 

He lifted her up on his steed of gray, 
^nd they rode till morning away, away — 
Over the mountain and over the moor, 
And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore. 

F 



66 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XIX. 

I 

"We have ridden east, we have ridden west — 
I'm weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest. 
Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea? 
Hast thou a good ship waiting for me % n 

xx. 

"I have no dwelling beyond the sea, 
I have no good ship waiting for thee : 
Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam, 
And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home." 

XXI. 

The gray steed plunged in the billows clear, 
And the maiden's shrieks were sad to hear. 
"Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine — 
Maiden, maiden, now thou'rt mine I" 

XXII. 

Loud the cold sea-blast did blow, 
As they sank 'mid the angry waves below — 
Down to the rocks where the serpents creep, 
Twice five hundred fathoms deep. 

XXIII. 

At morn a fisherman sailing by 
Saw her pale corse floating high : 
He knew the maid by her yellow hair 
And her lily skin so soft and fair. 



THE KELPIE OF CORRYVRECKAN. G7 



XXIV. 



Under a rock on Scarba's shore, 
Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar, 
They dug her a grave by the water clear, 
Among the sea-weed salt and sere. 



XXV. 



And every year, at Beltan E'en, 
The Kelpie gallops across the green, 
On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind, 
With Jessie's mournful ghost behind. 



XXVI. 



I warn you, maids, whoever you be, 
Beware of pride and vanity ; 
And ere on change of love you reckon, 
Beware the Kelpie of Corryvreckan. 



P 2 



68 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



LORD NLTHSD ALE'S DREAM IN THE TOWER OF 
LONDON. 

[In the notes to Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song: 
will be found the full particulars of Lord Nithsdale's escape narrated 
in the simple and touching language of Winifred Lady Nithsdale, in a 
letter to her sister.] 

I. 

" Farewell to thee, Winifred, dearest and best ! 

Farewell to thee, wife of a courage so high ! 
Come hither, and nestle again in my breast, 

Come hither, and kiss me again ere I die ! 
And when I am laid bleeding and low in the dust, 

And yield my last breath at a tyrant's decree, 
Look up — be resign'd — and the God of the just 

Will shelter thy fatherless children and thee." 

II. 

She wept on his breast, but, ashamed of her fears, 

She dash'd off the drops that ran warm down 
her cheek — 
" Be sorrow for those who have leisure for tears, 

Oh, pardon thy wife, that her soul was so weak ! 
There is hope for us still, and' I will not despair, 

Though cowards and traitors exult at thy fate ; 
I'll show the oppressors what woman can dare — 

I'll show them that love can be stronger than hate." 



. 




U' MTHM1U1 s HP.r, \M 



LORD NITHSD ALE'S DREAM. 60 

III. 

Lip to lip — heart to heart — and their fond arms 
entwined — 
He has clasp'd her again, and again, and again : — 
"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind, 

Sole ray in my darkness — sole joy in my pain." 
She has gone ! He has heard the last sound of her 
tread — 
He has caught the last glimpse of her robes at the 
door 
She has gone! and the joy that her presence had shed, 
Will cheer the sad heart of Lord Mthsdale do 



IV. 

The prisoner pray'd in his dungeon alone, 

And thought of the morn and its dreadful array ; 
Then rested his head on his pillow of stone, 

And slumber'd an hour ere the dawning of day. 
Oh, balm of the weary ! — oh, soother of pain ! 

That still to the sad givest pity and dole, 
How gently, O Sleep, lay thy wings on his brain ! 

How sweet were thy dreams to his desolate soul ! 

V. 

Once more on his green native braes of the Nith 
He plucked the wild breckan, a frolicsome boy ; 

He sported his limbs in the waves of the frith ; 
He trod the green heather in gladness and joy j 



70 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

On his gallant gray steed to the hunting he rode — 
In his bonnet a plume, on his bosom a star — 

And chased the red-deer to its mountain abode, 
And track'd the wild roe to its covert afar. 



VI. 

The vision has changed ; — in a midsummer night 

He roam'd with his Winifred blooming and young ; 
He gazed on her face by the moon's mellow light, 

And loving and warm were the words on his 
tongue j 
Through good and through evil he swore to be true, 

And love through all fortune his Winnie alone — 
And he saw the red blush o'er her cheek as it flew, 

And heard her sweet voice that replied to his 



VII. 

Once more it has changed ; in his martial array 
Lo ! he rode at the head of his gallant young 
men, 
For the pilroch was heard on the hills far away, 
And the clans were all gathered from mountain 
and glen. 
For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored ; 
They raised the loud slogan — they rushed to the 
strife, 
Unfurl'd was the banner — unsheathed was the sword, 
For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than 
life. 



LOID NITHSD ALE'S DREAM. 71 

VIII. 

Again — and the vision was lost to his sight ; 

But the phantom that followed was darksome and 
dread — 
The morn of his doom had succeeded the night, 

And a priest by his side said the prayers for the dead. 
He heard the dull sound of the slow muffled drum, 

And the hoarse sullen boom of the death-tolling bell. 
The block was prepared and the headsman had come, 

And the victim, bareheaded, walked forth from 
his cell. 

IX. 

No ! no ! 'twas but fancy — his hour was not yet — 

And, waking, he turned on his pallet of straw, 
And a form by his side he could never forget, 

By the pale misty light of a taper he saw; 

'•"Tis I— 'tis thy Winifred !"— softly she said, 

" Arouse thee, and follow — be bold — never fear ; 
There was danger abroad, but my errand has sped — 

I promised to save thee, and lo — I am here ! " 

x. 

He rose at the summons ; but little they spoke ; — 

The gear of a lady she placed on his head ; 
She covered his limbs with a womanly cloak, 

And painted his cheeks of a maidenly red. 
" One kiss, my dear lord — and begone — and beware — 

"Walk softly — I follow ! O ! guide us and save 
From the open assault, from the intricate snare, 

Thou Providence, friend of the suffering brave !" 



72 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XL 

They passed unsuspected the guard at the cell, 

And the sentinels weary that watched at the gate ; 
One danger remained — but they conquer'd it well — 

Another — and Love triumphed still over Hate. 
And long ere the morning, their ship was at sea, 
Sailing down with fair winds, far away from the 
shore, 
To the land of the Gaul, where their hearts might 
be free, 
And the quarrels of monarchs disturb them no 
more. 



«^=^Cu<^9iC5V>^>s3> 



THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 



THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 



Calm and unruffled is the bay, 
There is not even a breath at play, 
To make a ripple in the sun, 
That since this summer day begun, 
Has shown the Hebridean isles 
A cloudless visage, bright with smiles. 
On the low rocks that fringe the sea, 
The brown dulse welters lazily ; 
The seagulls hovering, milky white, 
Display their pinions to the light, 
And dart and wheel with sudden cry, 
Or drop like snow-flakes from the sky. 

II. 

The minister is in the manse, 

His open Bible on his knees; 
His daughters in the garden walk, 

And prune their stunted apple-trees, 

By high walls shelter'd from the breeze, 
That comes salt-laden from the beach ; 
Or lift the tender floweret's stalk 

Which rains have beaten to the ground; 
Or guard their solitary peach 

From birds, by network round. 



74 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

III. 

The fisher's wife beside her door 
Sits mending nets, and crooning o'er 

Some old sad Gaelic lay ; 
And children paddle in the brine, 
Or watch the fair white sails that shine 

In sunlight o'er the bay, 
Or hide and seek 'mid. boats that lie 
Keel upwards, on the beach to dry. 

IV. 

Peace broods upon that "Western isle ; — 

When a lone fisher on the sand, 
Loitering along with vacant smile, 

Suddenly stops, and with his hand 
Shades his face from the light of the skies, 
And summons his soul into his eyes, 
To look if his sight deceives him not ; — 

Lo ! — there ! — where sky and ocean blend ! — 
He fixes his gaze upon the spot — 

The glittering cascades ascend 
Twenty feet high — then rustle down 
On the backs of the monsters, bare and brown 
Again — and again — he sees them roll — 
There are whales in the bay — A shoal ! A shoal ! 

v. 

In the fulness of his joy, his face 
Reddens — and his quick eager shout, 

Echoing over that silent place, 
Calls the inquiring people out. 



THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 75 

" The whales ! " lie cries — and to behold 
Come the youthful and the old ; 
Come the feeble and the strong ; 

Men and women and girls ; with boys, 
That whether for right, or whether for wrong, 

Delight in the tumult and the noise ; 
Rushing down with trampling feet, 
And cries that the echoing hills repeat. 



VI. 

And now the uproar thicker grows — 
From side to side the clapper goes 
In the kirk bell, as if its power 
Had been redoubled for this hour ; 
As if in such a cause inspired, 

It summon'd with gladness all the flock ; 
And flags are waved, and guns are fired, 

And bonfires kindled on the rock ; 
And that lone isle of the Western sea 
Prepares for a clay of jubilee. 



VII. 

" Leviathan ! Leviathan ! " 

The minister cries, and shuts his book ; 
And though a man of peace is he, 
As a preacher of the Word should be, 

He takes his musket from a nook, 
Rusty and old ; and hastes away 
To join his people in the bay. 



76 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

VIII. 

His daughters fair have saddled their steeds, 

Two young ponies sleek and brown ; 
And with flashing eyes and streaming hair, 

And heads uncover'd, have galloped down 
To see the sport — perchance to share. 
Old men have left their usual place 
By warm firesides, to join the chase, 
And one bedridden, half-crazy soul 

Has started up at the people's roar, 
And the joyous cry " a shoal ! a shoal ! " 

And hobbled on crutches to the door, 
To envy the limbs of the passers-by, 
And watch the sport with kindling eye. 

IX. 

The women have left their spinning-wheels, 

Their hose, their nets, their fishing-creels, 

And arm'd themselves with pikes and staves 

To follow the monsters of the waves. 

Fifty boats at least are ready — 

With rowers strong and helmsmen steady, 

To drive the whales into shallow water. 

And dye the beach with the blood of slaughter. 



x. 



Merrily ring the bells — 
Merrily wave the flags — 

Merrily shout the people 
That watch upon the crags. 



THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 77 

Merrily row the boats — 

Merrily swell the sails — 
And merrily go the islanders 

To chase the mighty whales. 
And quietly prays the preacher 

For a blessing and reward 
Upon harpoon and musket, 

Upon the spear and sword, 
That shall slay the great Leviathan, 

For the glory of the Lord. 



XI. 



And steady — steady — steady — 

Until their backs appear; 
And ready — ready — ready — 

With the musket and the spear ! 
Behold the spouts upheaving, 
Their sides the water cleaving — 
A shot is fired — and a sudden roar 
Proclaims approval on the shore ; 
And barb'd harpoons with lengthening twine 
Are launch'd unerring o'er the brine, 
And the water-spouts, that a minute ago 
Were clear as the discongealing snow, 
Rise ruddy in air like founts of wine ; — 
And the wounded whales, in their agony, 
Plunge in fury through the sea, 
And lash the waters into froth, 
Blood-crimson'd by their pain and wrath. 



78 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XII. 

In vain ye struggle — luckless whales ; — 
Your numbers were a score — 

But ten of you shall not escape 
To swim the salt seas more. 

For ye have come to a needy land, 
And to a perilous shore, 

Where they will turn your bones to wealth- 
Make coinage of your spoil, 

And give their virgins when they wed 
A dowry of your oil ; — 

Where men will sit around their hearths, 
Reposing from their toil, 

And long that every day may see 

Such slaughter and such revelry. 

XIII. 

Again — again — the muskets ring, 
And scare the sea-birds on the wing; 
And not a shot is fired this day 
That fails to reach its mark — and slay. 
Strong hands impel the heavy spear, 

Or drive the double-edged harpoon ; 
And the fair bay, whose waters clear 

Were stainless underneath the moon, 
Shall roll to-night a darker flood, 
And see its billows streak'd with blood. 

XIV. 

' Tis done — the unequal strife is o'er — 
The dying whales are driven ashore; 



THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 79 

And long ere setting of the sun, 
Their carcasses are haul'd to land ; 
Where, stretch' d unwieldy on the sand, 

Men count the prizes they have won ; — 
Twelve monsters huge, whose bones shall bring 

Enjoyment for the wintry nights, 
Whose oil shall make the wretched sing, 

And fill the needy with delights. 
And round about the children go, 
With gladness fill'd to overflow, 
To hear the joyous bells resound, 
And see the bonfires blazing round. 

xv. 

This night shall mirth be unrestrain'd, 
Its blood in quicker pulses driven ; 

And many a flowing cup be drain'd, 
And many a loving pledge be given ; 

And even the minister himself 

Shall lay his Bible on the shelf, 

And join his elders o'er a bowl 

To drink a welcome to the shoal. 

And every dweller in the isle 

Shall hold a festival the while, 

And mark in memory's tablets clear, 

This day the fairest of the year. 



80 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 



THE WITCH OE SKERRIEVORE. 



" We were sisters, sisters seven — 
The fairest women under heaven ; 
One was calm, serene, and fair — 
One had locks of auburn hair — 
One had lips like parted cherries — 
One had cheeks like autumn berries- 
One had eyes where pity glow'd — 
One a smile where love abode ; 
Comely, ruddy, graceful, tall ; 
And I the fairest of them all. 



II. 

" Oh my sisters ! — sisters sweet, 
Dancing with their nimble feet, 
Mingling voices all the day 
In a happy roundelay, 
"Wreathing flowers to bind their hair, 
With their smiles dispelling care, 
Scattering pleasures as they went, 
To the world's en ravishment, 
Oh my sisters ! oh their fall ; 
Love destroy'd them one and all ! 



THE WITCH OF SKERRIEVORE. 81 

III. 

" Fairest blossoms of our clime, 
They were blighted ere their time : 
One was sear'd by slander's breath — 
One, too loving, pined to death — 
One, deceived, and smitten low, 
In her madness lost her woe — 
One, we thought a maiden mild, 
In her frenzy slew her child — 
One, with hopes and passions strong, 
Lived for vengeance, but not long : 
I alone escaped their fall— 
I alone, amid them all. 



IV. 

" Never have I loved a man ; 
Never will I — never can ; 
Smile, nor tear, nor passion-word 
Never yet my heart has stirr'd; 
Never shall they : Hate is free — 
Love abides in slavery. 
I have other joys than this, 
Hotter pleasures, fiercer bliss, 
As upon the winds I go, 
Flying, floating to and fro ! 



v. 



" Up in the air ! up in the air ! 
In foul weather, and in fair. 



82 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

I have made a compact free 
With the sprites of air and sea, 
To do my bidding willingly. 
I can ride the fleetest wind, 
And leave the lazy clouds behind, 
Or swim the surf where breakers roar 
Amid the rocks of Skerrievore, 
"Working mischief as I go, 
Floating, flying to and fro ! 



VI. 

" Up in the air ! up in the air ! 

Before the watchman is aware, 

I love to rattle the chimneys down, 

And rock the belfries of the town! 

Oh, 'tis sweet o'er field and copse 

To rush from the barren mountain-tops, 

To sbrip the garden of flower and fruit, 

To scatter the pine-trees branch and root, 

To loosen the wreaths of drifted snow, 

And roll the avalanche below ! 



VII. 

" Oh, 'tis sweet to ride the blast, 
To rend the sail from the creaking mast, 
To dash the billows amid the shrouds, 
To hide the moon in the driving clouds, 



THE WITCH OF SKERRIEVORE. 83 

To sweep the sailor from the deck, 
And cast his ship on the rocks a wreck, 
And drown his last expiring cry- 
In the howl of tempests rushing by ! 

VIII. 

" Up in the air ! up in the air ! 

I avenge my sisters fair ; 

On mankind I vent my wrath, 

Strewing dangers in his path. 

For this I've made a compact free 

With the powers of air and sea, 

That I shall rue eternally ! 

But hate is joy — and this is mine, 

To ride the wind, to sail the brine, 

And work fierce mischief as I go, 

Floating, flying to and fro." 

IX. 

Ye that sail the stormy seas 

Of the distant Hebrides, 

By Scarba's rock, and Colonsay, 

And old Iona's Minster gray, 

By far Tiree, the flow'ry isle, 

And Staffa's wondrous cave and pile, 

By Jura, with her treble hills, 

And Skye, far looming, seam'd with rills, 

By barren Mull and Ulva's shore, 

Beware the Witch of Skerrievore ! 



g 2 



8-1 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



THE BURN OF ABERIACHAN. 



I love, oil bonnie Aberiachan, 

Thy wild and tumbling flood, 
So gently down the rocks thou leapest, 
So softly in thy linns thou sleepest, 

Such silvery bubbles stud 
Thy glancing bosom, and so green 

Grows on thy back each birken bough, 
I never saw a waterfall 

More beautiful than thou. 



II. 

'Tis true, unlike thy roaring neighbour, 

Thy voice is sweet and low : 
The mighty Foyers speak in thunder — 
Thou whisperest thy birch-trees under, 

To winds that o'er thee blow; 
And after showers of spring-time rain, 

When every burnie bounds along, 
Thy voice, so musical and soft, 

But swells into a song. 



THE BURN OF ABEP.IACHAX 85 



III. 

Yet more than Foyers, grand and solemn, 

I love thy limpid face : 
He awes us by his power and splendour — 
Thou, like a maiden kind and tender, 

Subduest by thy grace. 
And in the sunny summertime,' 

From morn to night, I would rejoice 
To lie upon thy flowery banks, 

And listen to thy voice. 



IV. 

Or underneath thy shelving summits, 

Where tufted mosses grow — 
Between the green o'erhanging birches, 
Where all day long the lintie perches, 

Mine idle limbs I'd throw : 
And there I'd lie, until I sank 

To a half-slumber, 'mid the trees, 
Lull'd by thy confidential talk, 

Or murmur of thy bees. 



V. 

Or if I woke to dreams of fancy, 

Beneath thy steepest fall 
I'd sit, and weave some thoughtful treasure 
Into the light and airy measure, 

Of chant or madrigal : — 



86 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 

Or haply, in some genial hour, 
Interpret into words the song 

Thou singest down the mountain side, 
When autumn floods are strong — 



VI. 



Ev'n all the secret things thou breathest, 

From thy translucent breast, 
To the high mountains cold and hoary, 
Or the calm loch that, girt with glory, 

Receives thee from the west ; — 
Thy secret hymn of thankfulness 

For all the beauty spread around, 
Upon the loch, upon the hills, 

Upon the pasture-ground. 



VII. 

I know thee, bonnie Aberiachan ! 

I know that thou canst raise 
The song of joy ; and that thou flowest 
With cheerful strength where'er thou goest, 

Through all thy hidden ways. — 
Let me be like thee, and rejoice, 

That if no Foyers high and strong, 
I still can lift a grateful voice, 

And glorify in song; 



THE BURN OF ABERIACHAN. 87 

VIII. 

That I can see a beauty round ine, 

From many an eye conceal'd ; 
That Nature, kind to those who love her, 
Will still to them her face uncover, 

And love for loving yield. 
Let me, like thee, run cheerily on, 

And sing my song, though none may hear ; 
Rewarded, if I please the few, 

And keep a current clear. 



Aberiachan, Loch Ness, 

Inverness-shire, 1844. 



88 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



THE WEAITH OF GARRY WATER. 



" Go, Evan ! go ; — the heart you swore 
In weal and woe alike to cherish, 

You've broken by your cold deceit, 

And thrown upon the world to perish. 

II. 

"A woman's curse is hard to bear — 
But may be turn'd, if love endeavour ; 

But the curse of a man with hoary hair, 
It weighs upon the soul for ever. 

in. 

"And for the wrong that you have done, 
Upon your head all sorrow gather. 

And in your soul, for evermore, 
Deep sink the curses of a father I " 

IV. 

The old man bared his gray, gray head, 
And clasp'd his wither'd hands together ; 

And Evan curl'd his lip in scorn, 

And rode his way across the heather. 



THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 89 



" Why should I heed this dotard's words ? 

The needle from the pole will vary — 
And time will wear and hearts will change ;- 

I love no more his bonnie Mary. 

VI. 

"I trust that happy she may be, 
Nor pine with sorrow overladen ; 

And she may love another man, 
And I will love another maiden." 

vii 

The night was fair — the moon was up — 
The wind blew low among the go wans ; 

Or fitful rose o'er Athol woods, 

And shook the berries from the rowans. 

VIII. 

And Evan rode through Garry strath, 

And quite forgot the old man's daughter ; 

And when he came to Garry stream, 
It ran a red and roaring water. 

IX. 

The summer rains had fallen fast, 

The voice of streams made music merry ; 

And brae-side burnies leap'd and danced, 
And mingled in the tide of Garry. 



90 ::i :?il?. 



And Bruar raised a joyful sh: 

And Tilt to Ben-Y-Gloe resounded ; 

Tummel in the pride of strength, 

Down to his fell, rejoicing, bounded. 

XL 

Green were the birks on Garry braes, 

Soft through their leaves the moon was peeping; 

And 'mid the heather on the rock, 
There sat a bonny maiden weeping. 

xtt. 

Her kirtle seem'd of velvet green ; 

Her robes were azure, loosely flowing : 
Her eyes shone bright amid her tears; 

Her lips were fresh as gowans growing. 

\ t ii- 

u What brings thee here, my lily-flower? 

High on the strath the storm-winds tarry ; 
The night is chill — the hour is late : — 

^Tnj weep'st thou by the banks of Garry I" 

xrv. 

The maiden raised her tearful e; 

And with her silvery voice replying, 
Said, smoothing back her yellow locks, 

And speaking low and softly sighing : — 



THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 91 



XV. 

* Though dark and swift the waters pour, 
Yet here I wait in dool and aarrem 

For bitter fate must I endure, 

J ~—- ;■-. I pass the stream ere morrow. 

XVI. 

" Oh ! aid me in this deep distress, 
No* seek its causes to unravel : 

toength, alas ! is weak at best, 
And I am worn with toil and travel/' 

xvn. 

hough swift," said Evan, "is the flood, 
My good bay mare is strong and steady ; 
So trust thee lassie to my care, 

And quickly mount and make thee ready. 

XVULL 

° For one glance of those eyes of blue, 
Thy bonnie burden I will carry ; 

For one kiss of those honey lips, 

m guide thee o'er the raging Garry. 

•• What is it ails my good bay mare 1 
What is it makes her start and shiver ? 

She sees a Kelpie in the stream. 
Or fears the rushing of the river. 



02 LK3ENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XX. 

" Ah, coward jade ! — but heed her not, 
For, maiden dear, we may not tarry ; — 
• The beast has swum a swifter flood ; 

I'll see thee safely through the Garry." 

XXI. 

They mounted on the good bay mare — 
But vainly Evan strove to guide her; 

Through all her frame a terror crept — 
She trembled at her bonnie rider. 

XXII. 

Then as she heard the maiden's voice, 
And felt her gentle fingers pat her, 

She gave a neigh as loud and shrill 
As if an evil sprite had sat her. 

XXIII. 

And with a desperate bound she sprang 
High from the bank into the current ; 

"While sounds of laughter seem'd to mix 
Amid the roaring of the torrent. 

XXIV. 

The waters rush'd in eddying whirls, 

And dash'd the foam-drops o'er the heather ; 

And winds that seem'd asleep till then, 
Let loose their fury altogether. 



THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 93 



XXV. 

Down — down — the awaken'd tempest blew — 
And faster down the flood came pouring — 

And horse and riders, overwhelm'd, 
Sank 'mid the rush of waters roaring. 

XXVI. 

But on the surface of the flood, 

Her yellow locks with spray-fall dripping, 
The maiden with the kirtle green 

And azure robe, came lightly tripping. 

XXVII. 

And now she sank, now rose again, 

And dash'd the wave in rain-like shiver; 

Then lay afloat, or tiptoe stood 

Upon the foam-bells of the river : — 

XXVIII. 

And laugh'd the while, and clapp'd her hands — 
Until at last the storm subsided, 

When, like a gleam of parting light, 
Away upon the mist she glided. 



And Evan's corpse at morn was found, 
Far down by Tummel, pale and mangled, 

His features bruised by jutting rocks, 
His auburn curls with gore entangled. 



94 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



XXX. 



Few were the mourners at his grave, 

But 'mid them two — a sire and daughter; 

And loud she sobb'd, and loud she wept, 
Though tenderly her sire besought her. 



"He loved me, — and he did me wrong," 
She said, "and darken'd all my morrow; 

But in his grave Resentment sleeps, 

"While Love survives to feed on Sorrow." 



-■e^S^H-^ 



the king's son. 95 



THE KING'S SON. 



" Why so sorrowful, my sod ? 

"Why so pallid and distress'd % 
Why that look so woe-begone ? 

And that heaving of the breast? 
Hast not wealth enough to spend 

On the joys thou lovest best? 7 ' 

ii. 

"I have wealth enough to spend — 
All thy jewels and thy gold, 

All that usurers could lend, 
Piled before me fifty-fold, 

Could not ease me of the pain 
That consumes me uncontroll'd." 

HI. 

" Could not ease thee of thy pain % 
Art thou longing for the hour 

When thy sire shall cease to reign, 
And thine enemies shall cower? 

Art thou longing for my crown, 
And my sceptre and my power?" 



96 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

IV. 

" No ! — I care not for thy crown, 
Nor thy sceptre, nor thy state, 

Could my wishes cast thee down, 

Thou shouldst flourish high and great ; 

But thou'st done me mortal wrong — 
And hast changed my love to hate. 

v. 

" Thou hast done me mortal wrong — 
Thou, so feeble, old, and gray — 

Thou, so weak, whilst I am strong, — 
Thou hast stolen my bride away, 

And art rival of thy son, 
In the waning of thy day : 

VI. 

Art the rival of thy son 

For a maid that he adored ; — 

Hast her trusting heart undone, 

Though she wept and she implored ; — 

But she hates thee as do I, 

Thou voluptuous — thou abhorr'd ! 

VII. 

" But she hates thee as do I, 
O thou rust upon the steel ! 

O thou cloud upon the sky ! 
O thou poison at the meal ! 

Who hast changed our joy to woe, 
Which no time can ever heal ! 



the king's son. 97 



VIII. 



" "Who hast changed our joy to woe, 
Bringing blight upon her heart — 

Bringing tears that, as they flow, 
Burn the eyeballs where they start : 

Buying beauty for a price, 
Like a jewel in the mart. 

IX. 

" Buying beauty for a price, 

When the priceless gem was mine ; 

When thy blood is cold as ice, 

Nor can warm with love or wine, — 

Trying vainly to be young, 

And to kneel at beauty's shrine. 

x. 

" Trying vainly to be young, 

When thy limbs with palsy shake, 

And to woo with flattering tongue, 
When for Jesus' blessed sake 

Thou shouldst make thy peace with God, 
Ere the grave thy body take!" 

XI. 

Fiercely flash'd the old king's eye — 
To his forehead rush'd the blood — 

And the veins were swollen high 
By the anger-driven flood ; 

But his tongue refused to speak, 
And he trembled where he stood. 



98 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XII. 

But his tongue refused to speak 
All the madness of his brain ; 

From his eyes it seem'd to reek, 
On his lips it curTd in pain ; 

In each feature of his face, 
Swell'd in anger and disdain. 

XIII. 

In each feature of his face 
Shone a moment, like a fire, 

But no longer : from his place 
Falling, conquer'd by his ire, 

Senseless on the ground he lay, 
Struck by apoplexy dire. 

XIV. 

O'er him bent his sorrowing son. 
Weeping tears of bitter woe, 

For the ill his words had done 
To his father lying low, 

With his venerable head, 

And his long hair white as snow. 

xv. 

And that venerable head, 

Burning, throbbing, up he raised 

On his knees, as on a bed, 

And till succour came, still gazed 

On that pain-distorted cheek, 
Awed, remorseful, and amazed. 



99 



XVI. 

Awed, remorseful, and heart-sore, 
But with courage calm and kind, 

To his couch his sire he bore, 
Deep repentance in his mind ; 

And for many a weary day 

Watch'd him, patient and resign'd. 

XVII. 

And for many a weary day, 
And for many a dreary night, 

"Watch'd beside him as he lay — 

Senseless — speechless — hopeless quite. 

Until sense, one day, return'd 
Like a sudden flash of light. 

XVIII. 

Like a flash of light it came ; 

And his son beside him knelt, 
Grasp'd his hand and breathed his name, 

And the sorrow that he felt 
Whisper'd lowly, and implored 

That forgiveness might be dealt. 

XIX. 

"Whisper'd lowly, and implored — 
" Oh, forgive me, sire," he said — 

"I am sad and self-abhorr'd — 
I have wrong' d thine aged head, 

I have mock'd thy hoary hair, 
Impulse-driven and passion-led. 
h 2 



100 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XX. 

"I have mock'd the hoary hair 
Of a sire that loved me well, 

But when goaded to despair, 
Youthful passion will rebel : 

And I loved this lovely maid 
More than tongue can ever tell. 

XXI. 

" God forgive me and the maid ! 

At her feet I breathed my sighs-— 
Doated on her, vow'd and pray'd — 

Drew existence from her eyes, 
Thought her love a light from heaven, 

And her smile a paradise. 

XXII. 

" Thought her love a light from heaven, 
And her form its purest shrine, 

And my being only given 

That with hers it might entwine 

Heart and soul and every sense, 

Mine with hers and hers with mine. 

XXIII. 

"Heart and soul through every sense, 
One as long as life should last, 

One desire, one love intense — 
In one mould of fortune cast ; 

Undivided in our love, 

E'en if life itself were past. 



THE KING'S SON. 101 



XXIV. 



" Undivided — oh, that thought ! 

Thou, O father ! came between, 
For thy wife my bride thou sought — 

Woo'd this maid to be a queen, 
Never asking, in thy pride, 

What her agony might mean. 

XXV. 

"Never asking, in thy pride, 

If she loved thee!" "Oh, my son!" 

Stung with grief, the father cried, 

" Pardon what thy sire has done ; 
Ere this night I'll give thee back 

Her thou hast not lost, but won. 

XXVI. 

" Ere this night I'll give thee back 
Her thou lovest ; — as for me, 

If I writhe upon the rack, 
Just my punishment will be ; 

I was selfish in my age, 
I was heartless unto thee. 

XXVII. 

" I was selfish in my age ; — 

Lustful, callous, stony-hard ; 
Ending life's long pilgrimage, 

Swaddled in my self-regard ; 
Caring not, so 1 enjoy'd, 

Whose enjoyment I debarr'd. 



102 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

XXVIII. 

" Caring not, so I enjoy' d, 

Whom I injured, whom oppress'd, 

"Whose the hope that I destroy'd, 
If one moment I were bless'd. 

But in living to repenfc, 

I shall die with calmer breast. 

XXIX. 

"And in living to repent, 

Let me hasten to atone, 
She for whom thy prayers are sent — 

She is thine, and thine alone, 
And thy love shall be to her 

Better guerdon than my throne. 

XXX. 

" Bring her hither — let my tongue 
Bless you both before I die." 

He has brought her; Lo among 
Chiefs and earls of lineage high, 

In her loveliness array'd, 
She has glided modestly. 

XXXI. 

In her loveliness array'd, 

Downwards looking, mild and meek, 
Dazzling as a star, the maid, — 

Happy blushes on her cheek, — 
Kneels beside the old man's bed, 

Fill'd with joy she cannot speak. 



THE KING'S SON*. 103 

XXXII. 

Kneels beside the old king's bed, 
Sorrow mingling with her bliss ; 

And he stoops his aged head, 
On her forehead seals one kiss, 

Takes his son's hand and the maid's, 
Joins them, trembling, both in his. 

XXXIII. 

Clasp'd his son's hand in his own, 

Then upon his pillow fell, 
And his eyes one moment shone, 

With a peace unspeakable, 
As he died without a groan ; — 

Holy angels guard him well ! 



104 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



THE LADY OF DUART'S VENGEANCE. 

[The Florida, one of the Invincible Armada, was sunk at Tobermory by 
an emissary of Queen Elizabeth. This vessel is supposed to have con- 
tained a great deal of specie. The country tradition concerning it is, 
that a daughter of the King of Spain having dreamed that a young man 
of particularly engaging figure haa appeared to her, determined to sail the 
wide world in search of the living prototype of the vision; Maclean of 
Duart realized in the princess's eyes the creations of her fancy. The wife 
of Maclean became jealous of his attentions to the fair stranger, and 
sought counsel of the witches of Mu!l, by whose agency the vessel was 
sunk with the object of her resentment. — Anderson's Guide to the High- 
lands] 



""Weird woman, that dwellest on lofty Ben More, 
Give ear to my sorrow, and aid, I implore. 
A lady has come from the green sunny bowers 
Of a far southern clime, to the mountains of ours ; 
A light in her eyes, but deceit in her heart, 
And she lingers and lingers, and will not depart. 

II. 

" Through darkness and clanger, 'mid tempest and rain, 
She has sail'd to our shores from the vineyards of 

Spain, 
Forsaking her country, her kindred, her home, 
Abroad through our cold Western islands to roam, 
To find a young lover as fair to her sight 
As a vision she saw in the slumbers of night. 



THE LADY OF DUART's VENGEANCE. 105 

III. 

"And hither by stars inauspicious convey'd, 
She has come, in her gems and her beauty array'd, 
"With a tongue full of sweetness — a heart insincere, 
And wielding at will both the smile and the tear ; 
And fix'd her bright eyes on the chief of Maclean, 
To toy with his heart, and bewilder his brain. 



IV. 

"And I, who was once the delight of his soul, 
Ere slie like a blight on my happiness stole, 
Now wander through Duart, neglected and lorn, 
Of a stranger the scoff — of my maidens the scorn; 
"With a grief in my bosom that gnaws to the core, 
And a fire in my brain that will burn evermore : 



" Unless thou wilt aid me with charm and with 

spell, 
To gain back the heart I have cherish'd so well, 
And rid me of her who with art the most vile 
Has poison'd my peace with her glozing and guile — 
I hate her with hatred intense as despair ! — 
Yet murder's a guilt that my soul cannot bear." 



VI. 

" Be calm, craven spirit ! On me be the guilt. 
No poison shall rack her, no blood shall be spilt. 



106 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Till my hair has turn'd gray, and my blood has 

grown thin, 
I have dwelt on Ben More with the spirits of sin ; 
And have learn'd by their aid without weapons to 

kill, 
And can blast by a look, and destroy by my will. 



VII. 

"Were the good ship, the Florida, far on the seas, 
I'd whirl her and toss her, like chaff on the breeze, 
And far on some cliff, where the storms ever roar, 
And aid could not reach them, I'd drive them 

ashore ; 
And the wanton I'd seize by her long raven locks, 
And drag her to death at the foot of the rocks. 



VIII. 

" But safe from all danger of winds and of tides, 

In calm Tobermory at anchor she rides ; 

But peril may come 'mid security deep, 

And vengeance may wake when the world is asleep ; 

And strong though her timbers — her haven secure, 

The hand of Revenge, though unseen, shall be sure." 



IX. 

Serene was the night, and unruffled the bay, 
Not a breath stirr'd the deep where the Florida lay; 
Her broad azure pennant hung breezeless on high, 
And her thin taper masts pointed clear to the sky ; 



THE LADY OP DUART's VENGEANCE. 107 

And the moonlight that fell on the breast of the 

deep 
Appear'd like the charm that had lull'd it to sleep. 



x. 

The cabin-boy dream'd of the vineyards of Spain, 

Or roam'd with a maiden at sunset again ; 

The sailor, in fancy, was dancing afar, 

In his own native land, to the graceful guitar ; 

Or bless'd with a household, in sleep, was restored 

To the children he loved, and the wife he adored. 



XI. 

The fair Spanish lady in visions was blest : 

She dream'd that, escaped from the isles of the "West, 

Her young Highland chief had consented to roam 

To her far Andalusia in search of a home ; 

That together they dwelt in her own sunny clime, 

Where life was not effort, and love was not crime. 



XII. 

None dream'd of the danger that round them might 

lurk; 
But in darkness and silence a spell was at work. 
Conceal'd in the waters, at poop and at prow, 
The agents of evil were busy below ; 
And noiseless their labour, but certain their stroke, 
Through her strong copper'd hull, and her timbers of 

oak. 



108 LEGENDS OF THE TSLES. 



XIII. 



And long ere the morning, a loud sudden shriek 
Was heard o'er the bay " Sprung a leak ! — sprung 

a leak ! " 
Oh ! then there was gathering in tumult and fear, 
And a blanching of cheeks, as the peril grew near j 
A screaming of women — a shouting of men, 
And a rushing and trampling, again and again ! 

XIV. 

No time for leave-taking — no leisure to weep ! 
In roll'd the fierce waters, and down to the deep, 
Down, down fifty fathoms, with captain and crew, 
The Florida sank, with the haven in view. — 
Down, down to the bottom, escaping but one, 
To tell the sad tale of the deed that was done. 

xv. 

And he, as he battled for life with the tide, 

Beheld the fair lady of Spain by his side, 

And a lank skinny hand, that came up through the 

spray, 
And twined in her tresses, as floating she lay, 
And heard the loud laughter of fiends in the air, 
As she sank 'mid the waves with a shriek of despair. 



THE BRIDGE OF GLEN" ARAY. 109 



THE BEIDGE OF GLEN AEAY. 



We pass'd the bridge with tramping steeds, 

The waters rush'd below, 
Down from the gorges of the hills 

We heard the torrents flow. 
But louder than the roar of streams — 

We rode as hurried men, — 
The foot-falls of our cavalcade 

He-echoed through the glen. 

ii. 

We sang and shouted as we went, 

Our hearts were light that day, 
When near the middle of the bridge 

A shrill voice bade us stay. 
We saw a woman gaunt and old 

Come gliding up the rocks, 
With long bare arms, and shrivell'd face, 

And gray dishevell'd locks. 

in. 

She seized my bridle suddenly, 
The horse stood still with fear — 

Her hand was strong and bird-like long — 
Her eye was piercing clear. 



110 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

" Oh shame ! " she said, " oh cruel shame ! 

To ride so fierce and wild, 
The clatter of your horses' hoofs 

"Will wake my little child. 

IV. 

" Oh hush ! oh hush ! I pray you, hush ! 

I ask no other boon — 
No word be said — and softly tread — 

The child will waken soon. 
I die of noises all day long, 

From Morn till Even-bin sh, 
Not for my sake, but hers, I pray — 

Hush ! if you're Christians, hush ! " 



Much wonder'd we to hear her words, 

But Hugh, our guide, look'd on ; 
" Poor soul ! " he said, " we'll do our best 

To earn her benison. 
'Twill cost no trouble to be kind : 

Good Chrystie, let us through, 
We will not wake your sleeping child, 

But pray for her and you." 

VI. 

She slowly let the bridle fall — 
" Ride on your way," she said — 

" But oh, be silent ! noise like yours 
Disturbs both quick and dead." 



THE BRIDGE OF GLEN ARAY. Ill 

And then she slid among the rocks ; — 

We saw not where she went, 
But turn'd to Hugh our anxious eyes, 

Inquiring what she meant. 

VII. 

" Poor thing ! " he said, while forth we rode 

As if we trod on snow, 
" Her brain is turn'd by sore mischance 

That happen'd long ago. 
Her age was scarcely twenty then, 

But what it now may be 
Is somewhat difficult to fix, 

Between fourscore and three. 

VIII. 

" Though now she's ugly as a witch, 

She was a beauty then, 
And with her gentleness and grace 

She won the hearts of men. 
And Donald Bain won hers, and sought 

The hand she freely gave ; — 
They married ; but before a year 

She wept upon his grave. 

IX. 

"A little babe was left behind, — 

A fairy thing, 'tis said, 
"With soft blue eyes and golden hair, 

And cheeks of cherry red. 



112 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

It grew in beauty every day, 
The maid was two years old, 

The darling of her mother's life 
A pleasure to behold. 

x. 

"One day she wander'd to the stream — 

It was the time of floods — 
Perchance she chased the butterfly, 

Or pluck'd the yellow buds. 
She lost her footing on the brink ; — 

The mother heard the cry, 
And sprang to save, — but all too late ! 

The flood ran roaring by. 

XL 

"She saw the little face and hands, 

Then leap'd into the foam, 
To snatch it from impending death, 

And bear her darling home. 
In vain ! in vain ! oh, all in vain ! 

The neighbours gather'd round, 
They saved the mother from the deep — 

The little child was drown'd. 

XII. 

"And since that day — past fifty years — 
She's linger'd by the stream, 

And thinks the babe has gone to sleep, 
And dreams a happy dream. 



THE BRIDGE OF GLEN ARAY. 113 

She fancies it will soon awake, 
With blue eyes twinkling, mild — 

Unchanged by half a century, 
And still a little child. 

XIII. 

" Beside the waters where it sank 

She sits the livelong day, 
Her eyes upon the eddies fix'd, 

That round the boulders play ; 
And spreads to dry upon the rocks 

The clothes which it shall wear, 
The little frock, the tiny shoes, 

And ribbons for its hair. 

XIV. 

" She loves deep silence ; — bless'd with that, 

She feeds on empty hope, 
And daily nerves a broken heart 

With misery to cope. 
The pitying friends who bring her food 

All speak in whispers low, 
And never argue with the thought 

That cheers her in her woe. 

xv. 

" For she is harmless as a babe, 
Though mad, as you may see ; — 

God save our senses, one and all ! — " 
" Amen ! amen ! " said we. 
I 



114 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Such was the tale, and all that day 
Such sympathy it woke, 

I turn'd to chide each rising noise, 
And whisper'd as I spoke. 



Glen Aeat, Inverness-shire, 
1849. 



THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS. 115 



THE PLANTING OF THE ACOKNS. 



DARNAWAY FOREST. 



Upon this bare unshelter'd ground 

The living germs we strew, 
And pray for kindly summer suns, 

And fertilizing dew. 
Receive the Acorns, mother Earth, 

And feed them year by year, 
Till proud and high, towards the sky 
Their lordly boughs they rear. 
Winds, blow gently o'er them ! 

Rain, fall softly down ! 
Earth, enwrap them warmly 
In thy bosom brown ! 

II. 

Beneath the shadow of their leaves 
The wanton birds shall play, 

And lovers in the summer eves 
Shall sigh their hearts away; 
i 2 



116 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 

Or sit together side by side 

In solitary nooks, 
To read in one another's eyes 

The lore not learn'd in books. 
Winds, blow gently o'er them ! 

Stars, look kindly through ! 
Fortune, smile upon them, 
If their love be true ! 



III. 

And here in rural holidays, 

The village girls shall sing 
The simple rhymes of olden times, 

While dancing in a ring. 
Old men, upon the sward beneath, 

Shall loiter in the sun, 
With pipe and glass, and drowsy talk 
Of all the deeds they've done. 
Winds, blow gently o'er them ! 

Sunshine, gild their way ! 
Time, lay light thy fingers 
On their heads of gray ! 



IV. 

And when a hundred years have pass'd, 
The oaks, grown old and hoar, 

Shall serve to form some mighty fleet, 
To guard our native shore. 



THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS. 117 

By trusty hearts, in peril's hour, 

Our flag shall be unfurl'd 
To sound the fame of Britain's name 
In thunder o'er the world. 
Winds, blow gaily o'er them ! 

Calm thy rage, sea ! 
Bear thy burden proudly 
On to Victory ! 



; 



118 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 



THE FALL OF FOYERS, 
LOCH NESS, INVERNESS-SHIRE. 



"Wet with the spray of this transcendant river, 
Upon this crag with mosses cover'd o'er, 
I love to stand, and listen to the roar 

Of waters bursting down the rocks for ever — 

Dash'd into rainbows where the sunbeams quiver. - 
The sound of billows as they beat the shore, 
Or thunder leaping on the hill-tops hoar, 

Till the firm earth beneath its footsteps shiver, 

Is not more awful than thy flood, O Foyers ! 
Roaring 'mid chasms like an escaping sea. — 
Alone, and silent, in thy presence vast, 

Awed, yet elated, the rapt soul aspires, 
Forgetting all its meaner longings past, 

To hold high converse, intimate, with thee. 

ii. 

Yes ! all unmindful of the world without, 
My spirit with thee, and my eyes in thrall 

To thy great beauty, swathing me about, 

To me thy voice breathes peace, majestic Fall ! 



THE FALL OF FOYERS. 119 

Envy and pride, and warring passions all — 
Hatred and scorn, and littleness of mind, 
And all the mean vexations of mankind, 

Fade from my spirit at thy powerful call. 
I stand before thee, reverent and dumb, 
And hear thy voice discoursing to my soul 

Sublime orations tuned to psalmody — 
High thoughts of peril met and overcome — 

Of Power and Beauty and Eternity, 
And the great God who bade thy waters roll ! 



120 LEGENDS OP THE ISLES. 



FOYERS BEFORE THE FALL. 

Ere this commotion wakens in thy breast, 

Or these stern rocks call forth thy hidden powers, 
How gently, Foyers, thou passest all thine hours ! 

Now loitering where the linnet builds its nest, 

Or in green meadows where the cattle rest 
Lingering, and singing to the birken bowers, 
And heather-bells and all the woodland flowers 

That bare their bosoms to the fragrant west. 

So the great minds that soar to heights sublime, 
And win in peril all the world's applause 

By thoughts of wisdom and courageous deeds, 

Are aye the same that, in a calmer time, 
Conform them to the sweet domestic laws, 
And sport with happy children in the meads, 



COX AND TVYMAN, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN-STREET. 



5 aMs uft fgrical 1 units. 



Jallafos mtb f pral Jotms, 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 

I. 
Methought on the -ZEgean sand 
I saw a mighty Spirit stand, 
Clad in his majesty alone ; — 
His large fair brow seem'd Wisdom's throne, 
And from his face a glory shone. 

II. 

Another Spirit, great as he, 
Stood by the far-off Northern Sea; 
Erect his port, sublime his air ; 
Restless he seem'd, and full of care, 
But godlike, and divinely fair. 

in. 
And though between them, as they stood, 
All Europe stretch'd its plenitude 
Of populous lands ; and mountains cold 
Raised their bare peaks, and oceans rolfd, 
Each could the other's face behold. 

B 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



IV. 

Eacli could with each hold converse high, 
And mingle voices in the sky ; 
Sounding far off, not loud, but clear, 
Upon my senses — fill'd with fear — 
As from some interlunar sphere. 



v. 

" Men," said the first, " inspired by thee, 

Talk of their high philosophy ; 

Their skill, their science, and their laws ; 

Their tracing of effect to cause ; 

Their arts that win the world's applause ; 



VI. 

" Their happy progress evermore, 

From good to better than before ; 

Their new discoveries sublime ; 

Their knowledge spread from clime to clime ; 

Their triumphs over space and time. 



VII. 

" They vaunt their manners pure and mild, 
And their religion undefiled ; 
While all the good that I have wrought 
Is banish'd from their daily thought, 
Or, if remember'd, set at nought. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



VIII. 



"Vain of their progress, they contemn 
All arts that have not sprung from them ; 
And, swoll'n with pride, they cannot see, 
If I were not, thou couldst not be, 
And that the fruit proclaims the tree." 



IX. 

"Nay !" said the second ! 
They give the reverence which they owe : 
Thy memories are the theme of schools — 
Thy maxims are their daily rules; 
And none despise thee but the fools. 



"They own with wonder and with awe 
Thine ancient wisdom as their law; 
And that thy glories still inspire 
The sweetest music of the lyre, 
And steep its chords in heavenly fire ;— 



XI. 

" That all the arts which most refine, 
And make humanity divine, 
Were caught from thee ; and that the page 
"Which tells thy deeds from age to age, 
Ts of itself an heritage. 
b 2 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XII. 

"That an immortal beauty girds 
Thy form, and sanctifies thy words ; 
And that thy very name can raise 
Visions that fill us with amaze, 
From the abyss of former days; — 



XIII. 

" That mighty glimpses of the truth 
Flash'd in the fancies of thy youth ; 
And that thy errors, darkly bright, 
"Were not all error, even in sight 
Of those who know a purer light. 

XIV. 

" All this they see, but cannot own 
Thou wert perfection overthrown ; 
Or that as Time, with onward pace, 
Removed old systems from their place, 
Thou wert the best for every race. 



XV. 

"They will not own that for the few 
The toil of millions should be due — 
Or that the multitudes of man, 
Mere serfs and helots in thy plan, 
Should groan for ever under ban ; — 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



XVI. 



"That thou shouldst grind them at thy will, 

And at thy pleasure maim or kill ; 

Or make them build thy columns high, 

Or pyramids to dare the sky ; 

Or force them in thy broils to die. 



XVII. 

" They know, though beauteous and refined, 
Thou wert a scourge to human kind ; 
And they rejoice thy power has pass'd, 
And that the time has come at last 
When chains must fall, however fast; 



XVIIL 

"And when the many, wearied long, 
Borne down by tyranny and wrong, 
May lift their heads and look around, 
Proud of the knowledge lately found, 
They are not serfs upon the ground j 



XIX. 

" But freemen, heritors by birth 
Of the enjoyments of the earth ; 
Free not alone to till the soil, 
But to partake the fruits of toil — 
The corn, the vintage, and the oil; 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XX. 

"Free not alone, as Nature meant, 
To live their life, and die content ; 
But free to teach, and to be taught, 
To read the Book with wisdom fraught, 
To think — and interchange their thought.' 



XXL 

" Ay," said the first, " 'tis brightly drawn — > 

Thou'st made a noontide of the dawn ; 

For wheresoe'er I turn mine eyes 

I see a crowd of agonies — - 

I hear the murmurs that arise. 



XXII. 

"Though great thy triumphs, greater still 
The aggregate of human ill ; — 
And narrow, narrow is the span 
On which, to bless the sons of man, 
The tide of effort ever ran. 



XXIII. 

"Look round the nations and compare — 
Examine that thou mayst declare 
What vast improvement has begun, 
And what two thousand years have done 
For those that toil beneath the sun. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



XXIV. 

"The people grovell'd in my prime — 
They grovel in thy happier time ; 
And sufFring then — they suffer now : 
And if I left them slaves, hast thou 
Imprinted freedom on their brow % 



xxv. 

"Hast thou giv'n virtue to the base, 
Or flash'd thy knowledge in their face 1 
Hast thou convey'd to every shore 
The tidings thy Messiah bore, 
That Peace should reign for evermore ? 



XXVI. 

"Hast thou, in lands supremely bless'd 
With thy refinements, done thy best 
To ease the ills thou canst not cure, 
To teach the wretched to endure, 
And shower thy blessings on the poor ?" 



XXVII. 

" I am but young," the Spirit said ; 
" But yesterday I raised my head, 
And late began to understand — 
A mere new-comer in the land — 
What was expected at my hand. 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEAIS. 



XXVIII. 



" The mission unfulfill'd by thee 
Has gain'd some impetus from me ; 
And every triumph of thy mind, 
Not unforgotten for mankind, 
Has been led further and refined. 



XXIX. 

"Though narrow yet the sphere of thought. 
It has been wideu'd since I wrought ; 
And every seed which thou hast sown 
For human benefit, has grown, 
And larger leaves and branches thrown, 



xxx. 

"Beneath my care. And though dark night 

May spread a veil o'er human sight, 

I see far off the dawning ray: 

I labour to prepare the way, 

And watch the coming of the day." 



XXXI. 

And as the Spirit spoke, his eyes 
Plash'd heavenly fire — and to the skies 
Pointing his hand he turn'd to me, 
And said — " Thou dreamer, wake and see 
The Paradise that earth might be !" 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



XXXII. 

As one upon a mountain-top 
Standing alone, whom mists enwrap 
So densely, that he seeks in vain 
Amid the cloud of sleet and rain 
To see the wonders of the plain, 

XXXIII. 

Shouts when he sees the cloud dispersed, 
And in full glory at one burst, 
A world disclosed — hill, valley, town, 
Glittering in sunlight miles adown — 
Kiver and lake and highlands brown ; — 

XXXIV. 

So I, in ecstasy and awe, 

Look'd up believing, and I saw 

That from mine eyes a mist was roll'd, 

That heaven was bright as burnish'd gold, 

And earth had visions to unfold. 



XXXV. 

I saw the world before me pass ; — 

As in some great magician's glass 

The adept sees phantasmas, dim 

To all men else, but clear to him, 

As in the light and shade they swim ; — 



10 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XXXVI. 

So I beheld the mighty Earth 
Rolling through ether ; all its girth 
Exhaling glory. O'er my sight 
Flow'd the full tide of heavenly light, 
Until the view seem'd infinite. 



XXXVII. 

All happy were its populous lands ; 
Therein no man with willing hands 
Needed to pine for want of bread ; 
For the full banquet that was spread 
Allow'd all creatures to be fed. 



XXXVIII. 

And toil, a burden borne by man 
In sorrow since the world began, 
No more his tender bones oppress'd 
Until supremest joy was rest, 
Or bow'd his head upon his breast. 



XXXIX. 

But iron servants wrought his will, — 
Great engines fashion'd by his skill 
For every art — to spin — to coil — 
To delve the mine, to till the soil, — 
And free the human race from toil. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 11 



XL. 

And not alone by vapour driven, 
But by the storms and calms of heaven- 
By winds, however they might blow, 
And by the tides in ebb or flow, 
The mighty wheels went to and fro. 



XLI. 

The nearest and remotest lands 

"Were foes no more, but join'd their hands 

For mutual happiness and peace ; 

And bade their old dissensions cease, 

That they might flourish and increase. 

XLII. 

Too wise for bloodshed, "War no more 
Made demons of them as before ; 
Religion sow'd no poison-seed — 
None wish'd his neighbour evil speed, 
Or bore him malice for his creed. 



XLIII. 

But as I look'd with tearful eyes — 
Tears sprung of joys and sympathies — 
The colours of my vision grew 
Many in one; and hue with hue 
Was blent, and faded from my view. 



12 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XLIV. 

And a still voice said to my heart — 
" Though but a dream thou seest depart, 
And great the load of actual ill, 
Hope in thy waking — labour still — 
Deeds are fruition of the will. 



XLV. 

" The smallest effort is not lost ; — 
Each wavelet on the ocean toss'd 
Aids in the ebb-tide or the flow; 
Each rain-drop makes some flow'ret blow , 
Each struggle lessens human woe." 



13 



THE COMING TIME. 

"What shall I do to be for ever known, 
And make the age to come mine own ?" 

Cowley. 

What thou shalt do to be for ever known ? 
Poet or statesman — look with steadfast gaze, 

And see yon giant Shadow 'mid the haze, 
Far off, but coming. Listen to the moan 
That sinks and swells in fitful under -tone, 

And lend it words, and give the shadow form ;— 
And see the Light, now pale and dimly shown 

That yet shall beam resplendent after storm. 
Preach thou their coming, if thy soul aspire 

To be the foremost in the ranks of fame ; — 
Prepare the way, with hand that will not tire, 

And tongue unfaltering, and o'er earth proclaim 
The Shadow, the Roused Multitude ; — the Cry, 
" Justice for all !" — the Light, True Liberty. 



14 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



TUBAL CAIN. 



Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 

In the days when earfch was young; 
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 

The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, 

As he fashion'd the sword and spear. 
And he sang — " Hurra for my handiwork ! 

Hurra for the Spear and Sword ! 
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, 

For he shall be king and lord !" 

ii. 
To Tubal Cain came many a one, 

As he wrought by his roaring fire, 
And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade 

As the crown of his desire; 
And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 

Till they shouted loud for glee, 
And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, 

And spoils of the forest free. 
And they sang — "Hurra for Tubal Cain, 

Who hath given us strength anew ! 
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire, 

And hurra for the metal true !" 



TUBAL CAIN. 15 



III. 



But a sudden change came o'er his heart 

Ere the setting of the sun, 
And Tubal Cain was fill'd with pain 

For the evil he had done ; 
He saw that men, with rage and hate, 

Made war upon their kind, 
That the land was red with the blood they shed 

In their lust for carnage, blind. 
And he said — " Alas ! that ever I made, 

Or that .skill of mine should plan, 
The spear and the sword for men whose joy 

Is to slay their fellow-man !" 



IV. 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 

Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
And his hand forbore to smite the ore, 

And his furnace smoulder'd low. 
But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 

And a bright courageous eye, 
And bared his strong right arm for work, 

While the quick flames mounted high. 
And he sang — "Hurra for my handiwork!" 

And the red sparks lit the air ; 
Not alone for the blade was. the bright steel made ;' 
And he fashion'd the First Ploughshare ! 



16 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



And men, taught wisdom from the Past, 

In friendship join'd their hands, 
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 

And plough'd the willing lands ; 
And sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain ! 

Our stanch good friend is he ; 
And for the ploughshare and the plough 

To him our praise shall be. 
But while Oppression lifts its head, 

Or a tyrant would be lord, 
Though we may thank him for the Plough, 

We'll not forget the Sword!" 



THE FOUNDING OF THE .BELL.* 

I. 
Haek ! how the furnace pants and roars, 
Hark ! how the molten metal pours, 
As, bursting from its iron doors, 

It glitters in the sun. 
Now through the ready mould it flows, 
Seething and hissing as it goes, 
And filling every crevice up 
As the red vintage fills the cup : 

Hurra ! the work is done ! 

* When this Ballad was written, the author had not read 
Schiller's poem on the same subject ; or it is possible — and most 
probable — that he would not have incurred the formidable risk 
of a comparison. 



THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. 17 

IL 

Unswathe him now. Take off each stay 
That binds him to his couch of clay, 
And let him struggle into day : 

Let chain and pulley run, 
"With yielding crank and steady rope, 
Until he rise from rim to cope, 
In rounded beauty, ribb'd in strength, 
Without a flaw in all his length : 

Hurra ! the work is done ! 

in. 

The clapper on his giant side 

Shall ring no peal for blushing bride, 

For birth, or death, or new-year tide, 

Or festival begun ! 
A nation's joy alone shall be 
The signal for his revelry ; 
And for a nation's woes alone 
His melancholy tongue shall moan : 

Hurra I the work is done I 

rv. 
Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear, 
His long loud summons shall we hear, 
When statesmen to their country dear 

Their mortal race have run ; 
When mighty monarchs yield their breath, 
And patriots sleep the sleep of death, 
Then shall he raise his voice of gloom, 
And peal a requiem o'er their tomb : 

Hurra ! the work is done ! 
c 



18 BALLADS AND LYBICAL POEMS. 

V. 

Should foemen lift their haughty hand, 
And dare invade us where we stand, 
Fast by the altars of our land 

We'll gather every one : 
And he shall ring the loud alarm, 
To call the multitudes to arm, 
From distant field and forest brown, 
And teeming alleys of the town : 

Hurra I the work is done I 

VI. 

And as the solemn boom they hear, 
Old men shall grasp the idle spear, 
Laid by to rust for many a year, 

And to the struggle run ; 
Young men shall leave their toils or books, 
Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks ; 
And maids have sweetest smiles for those 
Who battle with their country's foes : 

Hurra ! the work is done ! 

VII. 

And when the cannon's iron throat 
Shall bear the news to dells remote, 
And trumpet-blast resound the note, 

That victory is won : 
When down the wind the banner drops, 
And bonfires blaze on mountain-tops, 
His sides shall glow with fierce delight, 
And ring glad peals from morn to night : 

Hurra 1 the work is done ! 



TZZ FOUNDING OF THE EELL. 19 

Till. 

But of sue! : forbear to tell — 

May never War awake this bell 
To sound the tocsin or the knell; — 

Hush'd be the alarum gun; — 
Sheath'd be the sword ! and may his voice 
But call the nations to rejoice 
That War his tatter cl nag has fuiTd, 
And vanish' d from a wiser world. 

Hurr work is done ! 

IX. 

Still may he ring when straggles cease, 
Still may he ring for joy's increase, 
For progress in the arts of peace, 

And friendly trophies won. 
When rival nations join their hands, 
When plenty crowns the happy lands, 
When knowledge gives new blessings birth, 
And freedom reigns o : er all the earth. 
Hurra ! . . is done / 



c 2 



20 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



LIFE'S COMPANIONS. 
I. 

When I set sail on Life's young voyage, 

'Twas upon a stormy sea : 
But to cheer me night and day, 
Through the perils of the way, 

With me went companions three — 
Three companions kind and faithful, 

True as friend and dear as bride ; 
Heedless of the stormy weather, 
Hand in hand they came together, 

Ever smiling at my side. 

II. 

One was Health, my lusty comrade, 

Cherry-cheek'd and stout of limb ; 
Though my board was scant of cheer, 
And my drink biit water clear, 

I was thankful, bless'd with him : 
One was mild-eyed Peace of Spirit, 

Who, though storms the welkin swept, 
Waking gave me calm reliance, 
And though tempests howl'd defiance, 

Smooth'd my pillow when I slept. 

in. 
One was Hope, my dearest comrade, 

Never absent from my breast, 
Brightest in the darkest days, 
Kindest in the roughest ways, 

Dearer far than all the rest. 



life's companions. 21 

And though "Wealth, nor Fame, nor Station, 

Journey'd with me o'er the sea, 
Stout of heart, all danger scorning, 
Nought cared I in Life's young morning 

For their lordly company. 



IV. 

But, alas ! ere night has darken'd, 

I have lost companions twain ; 
And the third, with tearful eyes, 
"Worn and wasted, often flies, 

But as oft returns again. 
And, instead of those departed, 

Spectres twain around me flit ; 
Pointing each, with shadowy finger, 
Nightly at my couch they linger; 

Daily at my board they sit. 



Oh, that I so blindly follow'd 

In the hot pursuit of "Wealth ! 
Though I've gain'd the prize of gold, 
Eyes are dim, and blood is cold — 

I have lost my comrade, Health. 
Care instead, the wither'd beldam, 

Steals th' enjoyment from my cup : 
Hugs me, that I cannot quit her ; 
Makes my choicest morsels bitter ; 

Seals the founts of pleasure up. 



22 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

VI. 

"Woe is me that Fame allured me — 

She so false, and I so blind ! 
Sweet her smiles, but in the chase 
I have lost the happy face 

Of my comrade Peace of Mind ; 
And instead, Remorse, pale phantom, 

Tracks my feet where'er I go ; 
All the day I see her scowling, 
In my sleep I hear her howling, 

Wildly flitting to and fro. 

VII. 

Last of all my dear companions, 

Hope ! sweet Hope ! befriend me yet. 
Do not from my side depart, 
Do not leave my lonely heart 

All to darkness and regret. 
Short and sad is now my voyage 

O'er this gloom-encompass'd sea, 
But not cheerless altogether, 
"Whatsoe'er the wind and weather, 

Will it seem, if bless'd with thee. 

VIII. 

Dim thine eyes are, turning earthwards, 
Shadowy pale, and thin thy form : — 
Turn'd to Heaven thine eyes grow bright, 
All thy form expands in light, 
Soft and beautiful and warm. 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 

Look then upwards ! lead me heavenwards ! 

Guide me o'er this dark'ning sea ! 
Pale Remorse shall fade before me. 
And the gloom shall brighten o'er me, 

If I have a friend in Thee. 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
I. 

I love to lie in leafy woods, 
When summer days grow long, 
To hear the fall 
Of brooklets small, 
Or blackbirds' mellow song : 
To watch the dapple clouds afloat, 
And trace upon the sky, 
In hues of light, 
All golden bright, 
A thousand castles high. 
Stay, O Truth ! thy hand relentless, 

And, I prithee, spare 
My bowers of Bliss — so beautiful — 
My castles in the air. 

ii. 

In one abides unchanging Love; — 
No guile is on his tongue, 

His heart is clear, 

His vow sincere, 
His passion ever young : 



24 BALLADS AND LYEICAL POEMS. 

And Care and Penury and Pain 
Are powerless to destroy 
His early heat, 
Communion sweet, 
And still recurring joy. 
Smooth, O Truth ! thy brow majestic, 

And in pity spare 
My bower of Love so beautiful — 
My castle in the air. 

in. 
True Friendship, in my sky-built halls, 
Her presence has bestow'd ; 
Each airy dome 
Is Virtue's home, 
And Honour's own abode; 
And there they nourish evermore, 
And twine together still, 

Though fortune blind, 
And men unkind, 
Conspire to work them ill. 
Prithee, Truth, look down auspicious, 

Stay thine hand, and spare 
My bower, for Faith and Friendship built— 
My castle in the air. 

IV. 

The statesmen, governors, and kings, 
That in my mansions dwell, 

Desire not pelf, 

Nor think of self, 
But love their country well. 



CASTLES IN THE AIE. 25 

They give to Merit just reward, 
To Guilt befitting shame, 

And shower on worth, 
And not on birth, 
The dignities of fame. 
Truth, I prithee, stay thine anger, 

And my buildings spare, 
My bowers for Public Virtue built — » 
My castles in the air. 

v. 

Smile on them, Truth ! behold how bright 
They glitter in the skies. 
Behold how proud, 
O'er mist and cloud, 
Their golden turrets rise. 
But no ! thou frownest, and in vain 
Thine angry looks I shun : 
My castles tall 
Down crumbling fall, 
Like ice-drops in the sun. 
Thou hast destroy'd my visions lovely, 

All my mansions fair, 
My bowers of Bliss — so beautiful— 
My castles in the air. 



26 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



A CANDID WOOING. 



I cannot give thee all my heart, 

Lady, lady— 
My faith and country claim a part, 

My sweet lady : 
But yet I'll pledge thee word of mine 
That all the rest is truly thine. 
The raving passion of a boy, 
Warm though it be, will quickly cloy- 
Confide thou rather, in the man 
Who vows to love thee all he can, 

My sweet lady. 



ii. 

Affection, founded on respect, 

Lady, lady, 
Can never dwindle to neglect, 

My sweet lady. 
And while thy gentle virtues live, 
Such is the love that I will give. 
The torrent leaves its channel dry ; 
The brook runs on incessantly : 
The storm of passion lasts a day, 
But deep true love endures alway, 

My sweet lady. 



THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 27 



III. 



Accept then a divided heart, 

Lady, lady. 
Faith, Friendship, Honour — each have part, 

My sweet lady. 
While at one altar we adore, 
Faith shall but make us love the more ; 
And Friendship, true to all beside, 
Will ne'er be fickle to a bride; 
And Honour, based on manly truth, 
Shall love in age as well as youth, 

My sweet lady. 



THE VOICE OF THE TIME, 



Day unto day utters speech — 
Be wise, O ye nations ! and hear 
What yesterday telleth to-day, 
What to-day to the morrow will preach, 
A change cometh over our sphere, 
And the old goeth down to decay. 
A new light hath dawn'd on the darkness of yore, 
And men shall be slaves and oppressors no more. 



28 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



II. 

Hark to the throbbing of thought, 

In the breast of the wakening world : — 
Over land, over sea, it hath come. 
The serf that was yesterday bought, 
To-day his defiance hath hurl'd, 
No more in his slavery dumb ; 
And to-morrow will break from the fetters that bind, 
And lift a bold arm for the rights of mankind. 



in. 

Hark to the voice of the time ! 

The multitude think for themselves, 
And weigh their condition, each one. 
The drudge has a spirit sublime, 

And whether he hammers or delves, 
He reads when his labour is done ; 
And learns, though he groan under penury's ban, 
That freedom to think is the birthright of man. 



IV. 

But yesterday thought was confined ; 
To breathe it was peril or death, 

And it sank in the breast where it rose; — 
Now, free as the midsummer wind, 
It sports its adventurous breath, 

And round the wide universe goes ; 
The mist and the cloud from its pathway are curl'd, 
And glimpses of glory illumine the world. 



THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 



The voice of opinion has grown : 

'Twas yesterday changeful and 'weak, 
Like the voice of a boy ere his prime ; 
To-day it has taken the tone 
Of an orator worthy to speak, 

Who knows the demands of the time ; 
And to-morrow 'twill sound in Oppression's cold ear 
Like the trump of the seraph to startle our sphere. 



VI. 

Be wise, ye rulers of earth ! 

And shut not your ears to the voice, 
Nor allow it to warn you in vain ; 
True freedom, of yesterday's birth, 
Will march on its way and rejoice, 
And never be conquer'd again. 
The day hatP-a tongue — ay, the hours utter speech — 
Wise, wise will ye be, if ye learn what they teach ! 



► 



30 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

THE CEY OF THE PEOPLE — 1845. 
(befoke the eepeal of the cokn laws.) 



Our backs are bow'd with the exceeding weight 

Of toil and sorrow ; and our pallid faces 
Shrivel before their time. Early and late 

We labour in our old accustom'd places, 
Beside our close and melancholy looms, 

Or wither in the coal-seams dark and dreary, 
Or breathe sick vapours in o'ercrowded rooms, 

Or in the healthier fields dig till we weary, 
And grow old men ere we have reach'd our prime, 
With scarce a wish, but death, to ask of Time. 



ii. 

For it is hard to labour night and day, 

With sleep-defrauded eyes and temples aching, 
To earn the scanty crust, which fails to stay 

The hunger of our little ones, that waking 
Weep for their daily bread. 'Tis hard to see 

The flow'rets of our household fade in sadness, 
In the dank shadow of our misery. 

'Tis hard to have no thought of human gladness, 
But one engrossing agony for bread, 
To haunt us at our toil, and in our bed. 



THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 31 



III. 



And many of us, worn with, age and pain — 

Old wither'd leaves of men, who, fading, camber, 
Long for that pleasant fosse, six feet by twain, 

Impervious to all grief, where we may slumber. 
And others of us, more unhappy still, 

Youthful, warm-blooded, with a life to cherish, 
Offer in vain our sinews and our skill 

For starving recompense, and yet must perish. 
In our young days, and on a fruitful soil, 
Because our food is dearer than our toil. 



IV. 

Tis hard to know that the increase of wealth 

Makes us no richer, gives us no reliance ; 
And that while ease, and luxury, and health 

Follow the footsteps of advancing science, 
They shower no benefits on us, cast out 

From the fair highways of the world, to wander 
In dark paths darkly groping still about, 

And at each turn condemn'd to rest, and ponder 
If living be the only aim of life — 
Mere living, purchased by perpetual strife. 



We rise in grief — in grief lie down again ; 

And whither to turn for aid in our deep anguish 
We know not — yet we feel that we are men, 

Born to live out our days — and not to languish 



32 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

As if we had no souls ; as if, stone-blind, 

We knew not spring was fair; and that the summer 

Ripen' d the fruits of earth with influence kind ; 
That harvest ought to be a welcome comer 

To us and ours ; and that in Nature's face, 

Were smiles of joy for all the human race. 

VI. 

We ask not much. We have no dread of toil ; — 

Too happy we, if labour could provide us, 
Even though we doubled all our sweat and moil, 

Eaiment and food — and shelt'ring roofs to hide us 
From the damp air, and from the winter's cold ; — 

If we could see our wives contented round us, 
And to our arms our little children fold, 

Nor fear that next day's hunger should confound us. 
W T ith joys like these, and one sweet day of rest, 
We would complain no more, but labour, bless'd. 

VII. 

But these we sigh for all our days in vain, 

And find no remedy where'er we seek it ; — 
Some of us, reckless, and grown mad with pain 

And hungry vengeance, have broke loose to 
wreak it : — 
Have made huge bonfires of the hoarded corn, 

And died despairing. Some to foreign regions, 
Hopeless of this, have sail'd away forlorn, 

To find new homes and swear a new allegiance. 
But we that stay'd behind had no relief, 
No added corn, and no diminish' d grief 



THE CKT OF THE PEOPLE. 33 

VIII. 

And rich men kindly nrge us to endure, 

And they will send us clergymen to bless us ; 
And lords who play at cricket with the poor, 

Think they have cured all evils that oppress us. 
And then we think endurance is a crime ; 

That those who wait for justice never gain it ; 
And that the multitudes are most sublime 

When, rising arm'd, they combat to obtain it, 
And dabbling in thick gore, as if 'twere dew, 
Seek not alone their rights, but vengeance too. 

IX. 

But these are evil thoughts ; for well we know, 

From the sad history of all times and places, 
That fire, and blood, and social overthrow, 

Lead but to harder grinding of our faces 
When all is over : so, from strife withdrawn, 

We wait in patience through the night of sorrow, 
And watch the far-off glimpses of the dawn 

That shall assure us of a brighter morrow. 
And meanwhile, from the overburden'd sod, 
Our cry of anguish rises up to God. 



Si BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 



A LOVER'S LOGIC. 

I. 

I AM skill'd in magic lore, 

And can tell thee, dearest maiden, 
"What the winds at evening say, 
As amid the boughs they play ; — 
"What the river to its shore, 
Softly whispers evermore 

From its heart o'erladen. 

ii. 

I can tell thee how the moon 

Breathes persuasion to the billows ; 

What discourse the mountain makes 

To its shadow-loving lakes; 

And conceal'd in lonely nooks 

What the little devious brooks 
Murmur to the willows. 

in. 

"Love thou me — for I love thee," 
Is the song they sing for ever. 

At this moment I can hear 

The responses ringing clear; 

And the very stars repeat 

To the moon an answer sweet— 
"Love shall perish never." 



REAL AND IDEAL. 35 

IV. 

And if thus Earth, Sea, and Sky- 
Find a voice to sing their passion, 

Should we fail, my dearest maid, 

Wandering in this greenwood shade, 

To repeat the same sweet song, 

We should do their music wrong, 
And be out of fashion. 



EEAL AND IDEAL. 

A FKAGMENT. 
I. 

Two friends were sitting in a chamber fair, 
Hung round with pictures, and in every nook 

FhTd with choice tomes and busts and marbles rare. 
One sat apart — and one with listless look 
Turn'd o'er, unread, the pages of a book ; 

Both young — and one who seem'd with sadness 
fraught, 

Thus to the other breathed his secret thought. 

ii. 

" I'm weary, Basil, of this ceaseless din : — 

The world hath beat against my heart, and worn 

By the rude contact of its vice and sin, 
The purity and freshness of its morn; — 
Tutor'd in callousness, adept in scorn, 

Virtue and Friendship, Honour, Love, and Fame, 

Are things to me no more, each dwindled to a name 
d 2 



36 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



III. 

" I'm weary of the world, and daily sigh 

For some green resting-place — some forest cave, 

Guarded by distance from the intruding eye 
Of civil fool and sycophantic knave — 
With none to natter me, and cringe and crave 

For driblets of the gold which I despise, 

And all who ask it with their fawning eyes. 



IV. 

"I'm weary of this pomp and ceaseless thrall, 
And pine for peace in wild woods far away; 

Though gold the fetters, still they chafe and gall ; 
Though jewel-hilted, still the sword will slay ; 
Though set with diamonds of the richest ray, 

The glittering cup that held the poison-draught 

Provides no antidote to him who quaff'd. 



v. 

" I will away, and hide me in a bower ; — 
Or roam the forest, climb the mountain-peak, 

Or muse by waterfalls at evening's hour, 

Or count the blushes on the morning's cheek, 
Or in deep silence of the midnight, seek 

Communion with the stars, that I may know 

How petty is this ball on which we come and go. 



REAL AND IDEAL. 37 



VI. 



'•'That I may learn what maggots on a crust 
Are men on earth ; and then, perchance, I niay 

Find some revival of forgotten trust, 

Some flower of faith fast fading to decay. — 
Here in these hollow crowds, heart-sick I stray, 

And find a void — and all my days I grieve 

That nothing more is left me to believe. 



VII. 

"Love? — It is bought for miserable gold. 

The fairest creature that the earth e'er saw,- 

Fashion'd in beauty's most delicious mould, 
Modest, accomplish'd, pure without a flaw, 
Would sell herself, with proper form of law, 

For half my wealth ; or ogle to trepan 

A Negro Croesus, or a Mussulman. 



VIII. 

" Friendship 1 — Like midges on a beam, the horde 
Throng numberless ; and every man pretends 

My virtues only lure him to my board — 
He hath no selfish interest, no ends 
To serve but mine. Oh kind, oh generous friends ! 

What would ye do should all the ducats fail 1 — 

Fail too — dissolving like the summer hail. 



38 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 



IX. 

" Fame ? — It is pleasant — but alas ! not worth 
The panting and the toiling to acquire. 

Is any object on this paltry earth 

So great, that man should waste his soul of fire, 
And carry in his heart the fierce desire 

For threescore years, then die without the prize, 

Which fools, meantime, have snatched before his eyes 1 



" What is there left 1 Long studied in the schools 
Of doubt and disbelief, my faith is dead : 

I've measured God by algebraic rules, 
And in a maze of logic long misled, 
Having no faith, have set up Chance instead ; 

Sought refuge in denial, to revolve 

No more the problem which I cannot solve. 



XI. 

" I'm weary, weary, and would be alone, 
Away from cities and their stifling crowd, 

Far from the scenes where folly on her throne, 
For rich and poor, for simple and for proud, 
Utters her laws and proclamations loud. 

I'm weary — and will hence, and hide in woods, 

And feed on quiet in their solitudes." 



KEAL AND IDEAL. 39 



XII 
i 



What?" said his friend — "Thou, Julian! steep'd 
in wealth, 

The young, the handsome, and the nobly born, 
Endow'd with choicest gifts of strength and health — 

Dost thou indulge this misanthropic scorn, 

And rail at Fortune in thy youth's fair morn? 
And turn disgusted from enjoyment's cup, 
With its rich liquor bubbling ever up ? 



XIII. 

"Arouse thee from this lethargy of soul — 

Shake off the weight that bears thy spirit down — 

'Tis but the offspring of the extra bowl 

We drain'd last night. Smooth from thy brow 

the frown. 
There hangs a gloom on the expectant town 

When thou art sad : — Come, be thyself again, 

Nor with the lore of fools bedull thy brain. 



XIV. 

"Hear my philosophy, and weigh with thine 
The truer wisdom that my tongue shall teach 

Not ever shall our noon of manhood shine, 
Nor pleasure woo us with entrancing speech ; 
Not ever shall our arms have power to reach 

The golden fruit, that hangs on every bough, 

In the fair garden where we wander now. 



40 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XV. 

" Short on the earth is our allotted time, 
And short our leisure to lament and weep ; 

Nature, all bounteous, deems denial crime, 
And sows a harvest for the wise to reap. 
So fill the goblet high — but drain not deep ; 

And if at morn you toil, at evening rest — 

To-day's denial is to-morrow's zest. 



XVI. 

" Be temperate only to enjoy the more— 
So shall no dainty on thy palate pall ; 

And cease with fools and bigots to deplore 

That earth's no heaven, and man not perfect all: 
Still make the best of whatsoe'r befall, 

Nor rail at fortune, though the jade is blind, 

Nor launch thy bitter scorn on human kind. 



XVII. 

" Hope little — thou wilt be the less deceived — 
In Love and Friendship be thy rule the same : 

And if by Julia's cruelty aggrieved, 

At Laura's altar light another flame, — 

And if she scorn thee, swear by Dora's name; — 

Nor cling to either with so fond a heart 

That it would cause thee half a pang to part. 



REAL AND IDEAL. 41 



XVIII. 



*■ For passion is the bane of mortal bliss, 

The flame that scorches — not the ray that cheers ; 
nd every tragedy but teaches this — 
Who sows in passion, reaps in blood and tears ; 
And he who to his soul too much endears 
The sweetest, best, and fairest of her kind, 
But makes a despot to enthral his mind. 



xix. 

" Nor let thy savage virtue take offence 

If friends should love thee better rich than poor 3 — 

It may be feeling, but it is not sense — 

Ripeness of heart, but judgment immature — 
To look for friendship that shall aye endure ; 

Or think the lamp would show the same bright ray 

Should the oil fail, and riches melt away. 



xx. 

"Nor let desire of Fame perplex thy thought — 
Poor are the objects that Ambition seeks. 

The applause of dunces is too dearly bought 

By nerveless limbs, care-deaden'd eyes, and cheeks 
Furrow'd before their time by aged streaks ; 

And the true wisdom never stops to weigh 

A shadowy Morrow with a real To-day. 



42 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XXI. 

"Enjoy the present — gild the passing hour — 
Nor drain the cup • — nor fill it to the brim ;— 

For us shall Beauty open wide her bower, 
And sparkling eyes in tender languor swim ; 
For us shall joy awake the jubilant hymn ; 

And round us gather every young delight 

That wealth can buy, for taste, or touch, or sight." 



XXII. 

"No, Basil, no — I pine for a belief; 

I'm wearied with my doubts, and fain would rest. 

Long have I clutch'd, in bitterness and grief, 
At all these phantoms, beautifully drest 
In colours brighter than the rainbow's vest. 

No, my friend Basil — not in these I trust, 

Begun in folly, ending in disgust. 



XXIII. 

"My soul, long darken'd, languishes for light — 
And with an utterance labours night and day. 

I see a vision dawning on my sight, 
I hear a music faint and far away — 
I hear a voice which says, 'Not all of clay 

Thy mortal being — raise thyself, clod i 

Look up, finite, infinite in God.' 



REAL AND IDEAL. 43 



XXIV. 

" Oh, that I could believe ! oh, that my soul 
Could trust in something, and my weary mind 

Burst all unfetter' d from the dull control 

Of doubt, that thinks it sees, but still is blind ! 
That I could cling to some one of my kind — 
Some gentle soul whose love might be the ray 

To lead me to belief j and brighten all the way. 



XXV. 

" Faith shall be born of Love — oh, happy pair ! 
Would ye but smile upon my darkening road, 

No more my heart, imprison'd by despair, 
Should find its sympathies too great a load, 
Doubtful alike of self, of kind, of God. — 

I will away from all this pomp and jar, 

And commune with my soul in solitudes afar." 



44 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 



HEAD AND HEART. 



AN UNDECIDED DISPUTE. 



Said Head to Heart, "You lead me wrong 
The pulse of passion beats too strong. 
You are the dupe of tears and sighs ; 
You take the Judgment by surprise ; 

II. 

"You melt at every sorrowing tale, 
Let Feeling over Will prevail ; 
And still, by impulse led astray, 
You draw me from the prudent way. 

in. 

" "When I would walk a steady pace ; 
Impetuous, you would run a race ; 
And ere a doubtful case I've tried, 
You've prompted Pity to decide. 

IV. 

"By bounds of Reason unconfined, 
!No space your sympathies can bind ; 
For, wayward as a petted child, 
You scorn restraint, and wander wild. 



HEAD AND HEART. 4.5 

V. 

"I pray you, Heart, these freaks forbear; 
They cause me shame, they breed me care ; 
And I am blamed for going wrong, 
And counted weak that you are strong." 

VI. 

Said Heart to Head, " You're cold and slow ; 
You cast a damp on Feeling's glow ; 
You are like water on the fire ; 
You are a clog on my desire. 

VII. 

"You measure Passion by a rule, 
You send the sympathies to school, 
And, slave to logic and its laws, 
You weigh, you ponder, and you pause. 

VIII. 

"When I would prompt the pitying tear, 
You purse the lip and look severe, 
And quick to doubt and slow to grieve, 
You lecture when you should relieve. 

IX. 

" Oh ! it is galling to be tied 

To one so sluggish to decide, 

"Who chills me when I glow'd before, 

And clings to earth when I would soar." 



46 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



The silent contest lasted long, 

For both were right ; — yet both were wrong. 

" Strive," to my secret soul I said, 

"To reconcile the Heart and Head. 

XI. 

"And let the Heart too warm and free, 
Too sudden in its energy, 
Pause for the advice of cooler Tact, 
And learn to think before it act. 

XII. 

"Let Head, too prone to reason still, 
Even in extremity of ill, 
Consent to play a warmer part, 
Led by the dictates of the Heart." 



47 



LITTLE FOOLS AND GEEAT ONES. 



When at the social board you sit, 

And pass around the wine, 
Remember, though abuse is vile, 

That use may be divine : 
That Heaven, in kindness, gave the grape 

To cheer both great and small — 
That little fools will drink too much, 

But great ones not at all. 

ii. 

And when in youth's too fleeting hours 

You roam the earth alone, 
And have not sought some loving heart 

That you may make your own : — 
Remember woman's priceless worth, 

And think, when pleasures pall — 
That little fools will love too much, 

But great ones not at all. 

in. 

And if a Mend deceived you once, 

Absolve poor human kind, 
Nor rail against your fellow-man 

With malice in your mind ; 



48 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

But in your daily intercourse, 

Remember, lest you fall — 
That little fools confide too much, 

But great ones not at all. 

IV. 

In weal or woe be trustful still ; 

And in the deepest care 
Be bold and resolute, and shun 

The coward foe Despair. 
Let work and hope go hand in hand ; 

And know, whate'er befall — 
That little fools may hope too much, 

But great ones not at all. 

v. 
In work or pleasure, love or drink, 

Your rule be still the same — 
Your work not toil, your pleasure pure, 

Your love a steady flame ; 
Your drink not maddening, but to cheer ;- 

So shall your bliss not pall, 
For little fools enjoy too much, 

But great ones not at all. 



49 



LOST AND WON. 

I. 
An idler, on the shady sward extended, 
Lay listless on a summer's afternoon : 
Thick boughs and numerous leaves above him 
blended 
Into an arch, through which the beams were 
strewn 
Upon the grass, like ripples on a river; 
There was a sleepy loveliness around, 
The quiet winds scarce caused the leaves to quiver, 
And vagrant bees flew by with drowsy sound. 

II. 

Too full of life for sleep — too calm for waking, 

The place seem'd fit for dreamer such as he, 
Who, worldly thoughts and haunts of men forsaking, 

Resign' d himself to lazy luxury. 
His thoughts were shapeless as the winds, and 
wander'd 

Afar in cloud-land, void of all intent ; 
His eyes now closed, as if on self he ponder'd, 

Now open to the leaves and firmament. 

in. 
Waking or sleeping, or if day or morrow, 

He knew not — but he saw seven ladies fair 
Beside him, with pale cheeks and looks of sorrow, 

And tearful eyes and long dishevell'd hair : 

E 



50 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

He knew them, and a deep remorse came o'er him, 
A shame of self that he had done them wrong ; 

While with reproachful looks they stood before him, 
And one broke forth into this mournful song : — 



IV. 

"Listen," she said, "and hear the wrong thou'st 
done us, 
And the false deeds thou'st wrought against thy 
soul ; 
The summer winds shall breathe no more upon us, 
"We're gone — our place is fill'd — we've reach'd 
the goal. 
Our melancholy faces look not sunward, 

But back in shadow ; and, oh ! never more 
Can we return to thee to help thee onward, 
And bring thee gladness as we brought before. 



" We stay'd with thee long time, with power to aid 
thee, 

Hadst thou but struggled with an earnest mind, 
To do such noble deeds as might have made thee 

Stand in the foremost ranks of human kind. 
We could have fill'd thy cup to overflowing, 

If worldly Wealth found favour in thy sight ; 
If Fame inspired, we could have led thee glowing 

Up the steep summit, to her topmost height. 



LOST AND WOK 51 

VI. 

" If Love of Knowledge fired thee to pursue her, 

We could have help'd thee to her courts to 
climb — 
Smooth'd the rough pathway — lent thee words to 
woo her, 

And turn'd the pages of her book sublime. 
If to be virtuous were thy sole ambition, 

We, day by day, had taught thee to excel ; 
Led thee to raise the wretched from perdition, 

And brought their blessings to reward thee well. 

VII. 

" All this, and more, if thou hadst duly prized us, 

For thee, life-waster, could our aid have done; 
But thou hast scorn'd, neglected, and despised us, 

And we are powerless, and our course is run. 
We are but shadows, pallid and regretful, 

To whom no future can a form restore ; 
And bearing with us, from thy soul forgetful, 

The fair occasions that return no more." 

VIII. 

Thus as she spake, his face in shame he cover'd ; 

And when he look'd again, he was alone. 
" Departed years, whose memory round me hover'd, 

For all the Past the Future shall atone," 
He said — and rising, cast away for ever 

The philosophic sloth that bound his soul ; 
Mix'd with mankind, and, strong with wise endeavour, 

Toil'd up the hill of Fame, and reach'd the goal. 
e 2 



52 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS, 



THE DEATH OF PAN. 

Behold the vision of the death of Pan. — 
I saw a shadow on the mountain-side, 
As of a Titan wandering on the cliffs ; 
Godlike his stature, but his head was bent 
Upon his breast, in agony of woe ; 
And a voice rose upon the wintry wind, 
"Wailing and moaning — " Weep, ye nations, weep ! 
Great Pan is dying : — mourn me, and lament ! 
My steps shall echo on the hills no more ; 
Dumb are mine oracles — my fires are quench'd, 
My doom is spoken, and I die — I die !" 

The full moon shone upon the heaving sea, 
And in the light, with tresses all unbound, 
Their loose robes dripping, and with eyes downcast, 
The nymphs arose, a pallid multitude, 
Lovely but most forlorn ; and thus they sang, 
With voice of sorrow — "Never — never more, 
In these cool waters shall we lave our limbs ; — 
Never, oh never more ! in sportive dance 
Upon these crested billows shall we play ; — 
Nor at the call of prayer-o'erburden'd men 
Appear in answer ; for our hour is come ; 
Great Pan has fallen, and we die ! we die !" 

Emerging slowly from the trackless woods, 
And from the umbrageous caverns of the hills, 



THE DEATH OF PAN. 53 

Their long hair floating on the rough cold winds, 
Their faces pale, their eyes suffused with tears, 
The Dryads and the Oreads made their moan : — 
" Never, oh never more ! " distraught, they cried, 
" Upon the mossy banks of these green woods 
Shall we make music all the summer's day ; — 
Never again, at morn or noon or night, 
Upon the flowery sward, by fount or stream, 
Shall our light footsteps mingle in the dance ; — 
Never again, discoursing from the leaves 
And twisted branches of these sacred oaks, 
Shall we make answer at a mortal's call ! 
Our hour is come, our fire of life is quench'd ; 
Our voices fade ; our oracles are mute j 
Behold our agony ; — we die ! we die ! " 
And as they sang, their unsubstantial forms 
Grew pale and lineless, and dispersed in air ; 
While from the innermost and darkest nooks, 
Deepest embower'd amid those woods antique, 
A voice most mournful echo'd back their plaint, 
And cried — "Oh Misery! they die! they die!''' 



Then pass'd a shadow o'er the moon's pale disc \ 
And to the dust, in ecstasy of awe, 
I bent adoring. On the mountain-tops 
Thick darkness crept, and silence deep as death' 
Pervaded Nature : the wind sank — the leaves 
Forbore to flutter on the bending boughs, 
And breathing things were motionless as stones, 
As earth, revolving on her mighty wheel, 
Eclipsed in utter dark the lamp of Heaven; 



54 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

And a loud voice, amid that gloom sublime, 

Was heard from shore to sea, from sea to shore, 

Startling the nations at the unwonted sound, 

And swelling on the ear of mariners 

Far tossing on their solitary barks, 

A month's long voyage from the nearest land — 

" Great Pan has fallen, for ever, ever more /" 

The shadow pass'd — light broke upon the world ; 
And Nature smiled, rejoicing in the beam 
Of a new morning blushing from the East ; 
And sounds of music seem'd to fill the air, 
And angel voices to exclaim on high, 
" Great Pan has fallen ! and never more his creed 
Shall chain the free intelligence of man. 
The Christ is born, to purify the earth ; 
To raise the lowly, to make rich the poor, 
To teach a faith of charity and love. 
Rejoice ! rejoice ! an error has expired ; 
And the new Truth shall reign for evermore !" 



y* 

--^-T .' 



. -. v.; : 



h$* Vi ~ 



tmi 




[,OVE ' u i,\ i, ■, in mii; « ni: 



55 



LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD. 

I. 
Oh ! my love is very lovely, 

In her mind all beauties dwell; 
She is robed in living splendour, 
Grace and modesty attend her, 

And I love her more than well. 
But I'm weary, weary, weary, 

To despair my soul is hurl'd ; 
I am weary, weary, weary, 

I am weary of the world ! 

II. 

She is kind to all about her, 

For her heart is pity's throne ; 
She has smiles for all men's gladness, 
She has tears for every sadness, 

She is hard to me alone. 
And I'm weary, weary, weary, 

From a love-lit summit hurl'd ; 
I am weary, weary, weary, 

I am weary of the world ! 

IIL 

When my words are words of wisdom, 

All her spirit I can move; 
At my wit her eyes will glisten, 
But she flies, and will not listen, 
If I dare to speak of love. 



56 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS, 

Oh ! I'm weary, weary, weary, 
By a storm of passions whirl'd ; 

I am weary, weary, weary, 
I am weary of the world 1 

IV. 

True, that there are others fairer — 

Fairer 1 — jSTo, that cannot be — 
Yet some maids of equal beauty, 
High in soul and firm in duty, 

May have kinder hearts than she, 
Why, my heart, so weary, weary, 

To and fro by passion whirl'd? — 
Why so weary, weary, weary, 

Why so weary of the world % 



Were my loye but passing fancy, 

To another I might turn ; 
But I'm doom'd to love unduly 
One who will not answer truly, 

And who freezes when I burn ; 
And I'm weary, weary, weary, 

To despair my soul is hurl'd ; 
I am weary, weary, weary, 

I am weary of the world I 



57 



THE LOVER'S SECOND THOUGHTS ON WORLD- 
WEARINESS. 

I. 

Heart ! take courage ! 'tis not worthy 

For a woman's scorn to pine: 
If her cold indifference wound thee, 
There are remedies around thee 

For such malady as thine. 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

From thy love-lit summits hurl'd ; 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

Weary, weary of the world ! 

II. 
If thou must be loved by woman, 

Seek again — the world is wide ; 
It is full of loving creatures, 
Fair in form, and mind, and features — 

Choose among them for thy bride. 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

To and fro by passion whirl'd : 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

Weary, weary of the world ! 

in. 
Or if Love should lose thy favour, 

Try the paths of honest fame, 
Climb Parnassus' summit hoary, 
Carve thy way by deeds of glory, 

"Write on History's page thy name. 



58 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

Be no longer weary, weary, 

To the depths of sorrow hurl'd ; 

Be no longer weary, weary, 
Weary, weary of the world ! 

IV. 

Or if these shall fail to move thee, 

Be the phantoms unpursued, 
Try a charm that will not fail thee 
When old age and grief assail thee— 

Try the charm of doing good. 
Be no longer weak and weary, 

By the storms of passion whirl'd ; 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

Weary, weary of the world ! 



Love is fleeting and uncertain, 

And can hate where it adored ; 
Chase of glory wears the spirit, 
Fame not always follows merit, 

Goodness is its own reward. 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

From thine happy summits hurl'd ; 
Be no longer weary, weary, 

Weary, weary of the world ! 



09 



THE DKOP OF WATER. 



Alone, amid a million souls, 
Hound him the tide of people rolls ; 
But lorn and desolate is he, 
None heeding what his lot may be — 
A drop of water in the sea. 

II. 
'Mid all the crowds that round him swarm, 
He feels for him no heart will warm; 
There is not one that knows his name, 
Or cares to ask him whence he came ; 
His life or death to them the same. 

in. 
The rich man's chariot passes by, 
And lackeys with a saucy eye, 
From outside plush and inward meals, 
Grin at him, as the rattling wheels 
Splash him all o'er, from head to heels. 

IV. 

He walketh on, a friendless boy, 
With much of hope, with little joy ; 
Elbow'd for ever by the proud, 
As if they grudged the room allow'd 
To this mean mortal in the crowd. 



60 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



On through the busy mass he goes, 
But whither bent he scarcely knows ; 
Through lane and street, and park and square, 
And looks at wealth he may not share, 
Though he is hungry and half-bare. 



VI. 

For him amid these houses small — 
For him amid these mansions tall, 
There is not one, where he could go, 
And say, " I am a child of woe ; 
To cheer me, let the wine-cup flow." 



VII. 

No ; he is friendless and alone — 
To no one are his sorrows known — 
His hope, or joy, or grief, or fear, 
There is not one would care to hear, 
Or say the word, "Be thou of cheer !" 



VIII. 

And evil thoughts will sometimes rise, 
When flaunting wealth affronts his eyes ; 
Envy, perchance, and discontent, 
That he into this world was sent — 
No good with all his evils blent. 



THE DEOP OF WATER. Gl 

IX. 

"No good?" saitli he. "Ah, surely wrong! 

Fresh health and youth to me belong : 

And from endurance I can learn 

Still to endure, and never turn 

From the high thoughts with which I burn." 



And still within himself he says, 
"Each man must pass his evil days — 
Each man should suffer ere his prime, 
If up the world's high steeps he'd climb, 
Some grief to fit him for his time. 



XI. 

" I am not all alone nor sad ; 

The face of Nature makes me glad, 

The breath of morn, the evening's sigh, 

The contemplation of the sky, 

That fills my soul with yearnings high ;- 



XII. 

" The leafy glory of the woods, 
The rushing of the mountain floods, 
The wind that bends the lofty tree, 
The roaring of the eternal sea, — 
All yield an inward joy to me. 



62 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



XIII. 

I find a pleasure in the sight 

Of meadows green and corn-fields bright ; 

I find a pleasure in the lay 

Of birds that hail the breaking day, 

Or warble to the moonlight gray. 



XIV. 

" If no man loves me, Nature's voice 
Is kind, and bids my heart rejoice : 
The path I go, true souls have trod; 
I will look upwards from the clod, 
With a firm heart, and trust in God/ 



xv. 

And thus he walks from hour to hour, 
From day to day, and gains new power 
Over himself; and undismay'd, 
In conscious rectitude array'd, 
He labours as his impulse bade. 



XVI. 

He looks on hardship, and it sinks ; 
He measures peril, and it shrinks ; 
Before him difficulties fly, 
Scared by that quietude of eye, 
Serene to suffer or defy. 



THE DROP OF WATER. 63 



XVII. 



And still, 'mid the perennial strife 
With worldly things, that makes his life, 
He never plays the worldling's part, 
Or ever from his grateful heart 
Allows the freshness to depart. 



XVIII. 

Amid the city's ceaseless hum, 
Still to his soul the visions come 
Of the green woodlands far away, 
Where, in communion all the day 
With Nature, he was wont to stray. 



XIX. 

And mixing with his fellows, still 
He finds some good amid the ill ; 
And pitying those whose souls are blind, 
Nor hating those of evil mind, 
He learns to love all human kind. 



To him all errors of the past 
Teach wisdom where his lot is cast ; 
And after struggles hard and long, 
With self, and with temptation strong, 
And pride that sought to lead him wrong, 



64 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

XXI. 

He learns this truth ; that nought below 

Can lasting recompense bestow 

But Virtue ; — that the Love of Fame 

Is something better than a name, 

If Love of Virtue feed its flame ; — 

XXII. 

That to the mind not mured in self, 
Nor toiling for the love of pelf, 
Wealth may be worth its cost of brain, 
That gives the power to solace pain, 
And lift the fallen up again. 

XXIII. 

Take courage, ye who wander here, 
Lonely and sad, and be of cheer ! 
This man, who had no aids to climb, 
But his true heart and soul sublime, 
Lives in the annals of his time. 

XXIV. 

So, by an ever wise decree, 
The drop of water in the sea 
Awakens to a glorious birth, 
Becomes a pearl of matchless worth, 
And shines resplendent in the earth. 



65 



THE DIONYSIA ; OB, FESTIVALS OF BACCHUS, 

My fancy travell'd back three thousand years 

To find the meaning of the ancient days, 

And disencumber their simplicity 

From the corruptions of a later time. 

I fashion'd in my mind the god-like shape 

Of Dionysius, mighty conqueror, 

Who taught the early nations how to live : 

No vulgar Bacchus straddling on a cask, 

Drunken and bestial, but a king of men ; 

Noble in intellect, and fair in form, 

With ivy and with budding violets crown'd, 

And bearing on his cheerful face the glow 

Of kindly wisdom and perpetual youth. 

So to my thought appear'd the demi-god ; 

The same that taught the ignorant hinds of Greece 

To plough the soil, and reap the annual corn; 

That taught the grateful villages to press 

The grape and apple for refreshing drink, 

To clip the goat, and shear the sheep for wool, 

To draw from willing Earth its constant stores 

Of blessings, and be thankful for the gifts, 

Proving their thankfulness by temperate use : 

The same that swept his armies o'er the East, 

And conquer'd India — mightiest name maligna — 

Philosopher and Hero. Once his praise 

Resounded o'er the smiling vales of Greece, 

And youths and maidens came from all the bowers 

To chant loud hymns in honour of his name ; 

And Athens — ere she rotted to her fall 



66 BALLADS AKD LYRICAL POEMS. 

With luxury, lasciviousness, and sloth — 
Vied with all Greece to celebrate his feasts 
With greatest pomp of high solemnity. 

Come from your graves, ideas of the past ! 
And live again in song. The Athenian streets 
Teem with a multitude of young and old : 
The Archons, and the people, and the priests, 
To celebrate the Dionysian rites, 
With dance, and song, and joyous revelry. 
A troop of youths come first, who hold aloft 
Two sacred vessels. One is filled with wine, 
And one with water : holiest the last, 
For water is the mother of the vine, 
The nurse and fountain of fecundity, 
The adorner and refresher of the world. 
Then come a hundred virgins — flower of Greece- 
Clad in white robes, with ivy in their hair, 
Who carry baskets fill'd with choicest fruits, 
With apples and pomegranates, figs and grapes, 
Amid which twine and slide small silvery snakes, 
To teach the people, by a parable, 
There dwells a poisonous serpent in excess. 
The thyrsus-bearers follow in a rout, 
With drums, and pastoral pipes, and mellow flutes : 
Amid the crowd they scatter cones of pine, 
As emblems of the fruitfulness of Earth ; 
And sing, full-voiced, the Dionysian hymn. 

Io ! lo 1 Evoke ! 
Let the dance and song abound : 
The corn is springing from the ground, 



THE DIONYSIA. 67 

The Tine puts forth its tender leaves, 
The swallow builds in barns and eaves — 

Io ! Bacche ! Evohe ! 
There shall be bread for all the year, 
And wine the heart of man to cheer — 
Io ! Io ! Evohe I 

Io ! Io ! Evohe ! 
For these bounties — ever free — 
Ever grateful let us be, 
And use them wisely, day and night, 
For health, and strength, and pure delight. 

Io ! Bacche ! Evohe ! 
God of the water and the wiDe, 
The blessing's ours, the praise is thine. 

Io ! Io ! Evohe ! 

The chorus passes ; and another crowd 
Follow with other rites, and other songs. 
Lo ! mounted on an ass, Silenus rides, 
Obese and drunken, crown'd with poppy-flowers, 
And reeling as he sits. Around him throng 
The crowd of men and women, shouting forth 
Their gibes and jests, their laughter and their scorn. 
Wise are the people, even in rites like these ; 
Each ceremony, frantic or grotesque, 
Has its own meaning, and subserves an end. 
Great Dionysius teaches evermore 
The principles of use, and temperate joy. 
But as the will is weak when pleasure goads 
To overstep the wholesome boundaries 
That separate enjoyment from abuse, 
f 2 



68 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 

Silenus ever follows in Lis train, 

The type of gluttony, excess, and lust. 

Him, all the people point at as he goes, 

Half-falling from his ass with idiot stare ; 

And mock him with their fingers and their songs. 

Dirty Silenus ! god of swine, 
Drunken on the lees of wine ; 
Mad Silenus ! old and fat, 
Round and pond'rous as a vat : 
Youth and Beauty gaze on thee, 
"Warn'd by thy deformity. 

Foolish god ! that hast grown old 
Ere thy middle life is told ; 
Bald and blear, and weak and dull, 
Ere thy growth has reach'd its full ; 
Mad Silenus ! god of swine, 
Drunken on the lees of wine. 



69 



YOUNG GENIUS. 

Imbued with, the seraphic fire 

To wake the music of the lyre, 

To love — to know — and to aspire : — 

Thou seest in thy youthful dream 
All Nature robed in light supreme, 
And thou wouldst carol in the beam ; 

Happy — yet most unhappy still ! 
I dread to think what good and ill, 
What joy and grief, thy heart shall fill ! 

Great shall thy pleasures be — thy soul 
Shall chant with planets as they roll, 
Made one with Nature — part and whole. 

The clouds that flush the morning sky, 
The wind that wooes the branches high, 
The leaves that whisper and reply ; 

The heart of every living thing, 

The flowers that gem the breast of spring, 

The russet birds that soar and sing ; 

The pendulous click of night and day, 
The change of seasons as they play 
In heavenly unison alway ; 



70 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

The summer's sigh, the winter's roar, 
The beat of billows on the shore, 
Making deep music evermore ; 

All sight, all sound, all sense shall be 
The fountains of thine ecstasy, 
And daily minister to thee. 

To thee the past shall disengage 
The wisdom of its darkest page, 
And give it for thy heritage ; 

The present, with its hopes and fears, 
Its struggles, triumphs, smiles, and tears, 
And glory of the coming years ; 

All shall be given to feed thy mind 
With Love and Pity for thy kind, 
And every sympathy refined. 

All these, and more, shall be thine own, 
And round thine intellectual throne 
The applause of millions shall be blown. 

Thy words shall fill the mouths of men, 
The written lightnings of thy pen 
Shall flash upon their wondering ken. 

Oh Fate — oh Privilege sublime ! 

And art thou tempted 1 Wilt thou climb 

Young genius ! budding to thy prime 1 



YOUNG GENIUS. 71 

Reflect : — and weigh the loss and gain ; 
All joy is counterpoised by pain : — 
And nothing charms which we attain. 

Who loves the music of the spheres 
And lives on Earth, must close his ears 
To many voices which he hears. 

'Tis evermore the finest sense 
That feels the anguish most intense 
At daily outrage, gross and dense. 

The greater joy the keener grief, 
Of Nature's balances, the chief, 
She grants nor favour, nor relief 

And vain, most vain, is youthful trust, 
For men are evermore unjust 
To their superior fellow-dust, — 

And ever turn malicious eyes 
On those whom most they idolize, 
And break their hearts with calumnies. 

Their slanders, like the tempest-stroke, 
May leave the cowslip's stem unbroke, 
But rend the branches of the oak. 

If Genius live, 'tis made a slave ; 
And if it die — the true and brave — 
Men pluck its heart out on its grave, 



72 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 

And then dissect it for the throng, 

And say, "'Twas this, — so weak, or strong, 

That pour'd such living floods of song." 

Each fault of Genius is a crime, 
For Cant or Folly to beslime — 
Sent drifting on the stream of Time. 

Wouldst thou escape such cruel fate, 
Live in the valley, — watch and wait, — 
But climb not — seek not to be great. 

Yet if thou lovest song so well, 

That thou must sing, though this befell 

And worse than this, ineffable ; 

If thou wouldst win a lasting fame ; 

If thou the immortal wreath wouldst claim, 

And make the Future bless thy name ; 

Begin thy perilous career ; — 

Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear ; — 

And walk thy way without a fear. 

And if thou hast a voice within, 
That ever whispers — "Work and win,*' 
And keeps thy soul from sloth and sin : 

If thou canst plan a noble deed, 

And never flag till it succeed, 

Though in the strife thy heart should bleed : 



YOUNG GENIUS. 73 

If thou canst struggle day and night, 
And in the envious world's despite, 
Still keep thy cynosure in sight ; 

If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn, 
Nor curse the day that thou wert born, 
To feed on husks, and he on corn : 

If thou canst dine upon a crust, 
And still hold on with patient trust, 
Nor pine that Fortune is unjust : 

If thou canst see, with tranquil breast, 
The knave or fool in purple dress'd, 
Whilst thou must walk in tatter'd vest : 

If thou canst rise ere break of day, 
And toil and moil till evening gray, 
At thankless work, for scanty pay : 

If, in thy progress to renown, 

Thou canst endure the scoff and frown 

Of those who strive to pull thee down : 

If thou canst bear the averted face, 
The gibe, or treacherous embrace, 
Of those who run the selfsame race : 

If thou in darkest days canst find 
An inner brightness in thy mind, 
To reconcile thee to thy kind : — 



.74 BALLADS AND LYftlCAL POEMS. 

"Whatever obstacles control, 

Thine hour will come — go on, true soul ! 

Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal. 

If not — what matters ? tried by fire, 

And purified from low desire, 

Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. 

Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, 
And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy 
Thy secret peace, thy inward joy ; 

And when thou sittest on the height, 
Thy song shall be its own delight, 
And cheer thee in the world's despite. 



75 



THE VISION OF DANTON. 

The H6tel de Yille and the Place de Greve of Paris are cele- 
brated as having been the scene of most of the late and preceding 
Eevolutions. The pavement of the Greve has been stained with 
the blood of the victims of all the Eevolutions, and with that of 
criminals executed by the hand of justice, till within the last 
few years. This fabulous dream of Danton, in the chambers of 
this historical mansion, — the very Palace of Eevolution, — was 
written in October, 1847, in anticipation of the Eevolution which 
broke out in February, 1848. 



"Weary of strife renew'd from day to day, 
Th' inveterate war of parties brought to bay, 
With clash of hatreds jarring on his sense, 
And poison'd darts of hostile eloquence, 
With all the excitement of the brain and heart, 
That forms the life of men, who play their part 
In mighty dramas, — Danton lay at rest, 
His face to Heaven, his hands upon his breast, 
And said within himself, — "It must not be — 
Surely this grief shall end, and France be free." 



He closed his eyes, and saw a vision pass 
Clear as a show in a magician's glass ; 
He saw a figure, massive like his own, 
Headless and quivering, from a scaffold thrown; 



76 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

He saw the pavement running red with blood, 

And crowds insatiate dabbling in the flood. 

He saw Despair at every threshold stand 

And ruffian Terror stalking o'er the land, 

And sigh'd remorseful — " Mine the guilt," said he, 

"But surely it shall pass, and France be free." 



in. 

The vision changed : he saw the embattled world, 

And France defiant with her flag unfurl'd : 

He heard her trumpets peal ; her cannons roar ; 

Her captains shout and wave her tricolor. 

He saw their leader fattening the sod 

With bones of myriads ; heard the cry to God 

Eaised by the ravaged lands ; he heard and saw 

That Might was murder, and that Force was law; 

And sigh'd for pity — " Heaven is just," said he, 

"And this new plague shall pass, and France be free." 



IV. 

The vision darken'd : Paris the superb, 

The beautiful, impatient of a curb, 

Received the law from strangers at her gate, 

And gave for insults nothing but her hate. 

She who with trumpet-voice had roused the lands, 

Felt on her prostrate neck the Cossack's hands ; 

Heard in her panting streets the invader's drum, 

And groan'd for worse indignities to come : 

And e'en in slumber Danton blush'd to see — 

" Surely this shame shall pass, and France be free !' 



THE VISION OF DANTON. 



It changed again : and lo ! a royal drone, 
Untaught by suffering, dozed upon the throne; 
Or waking, fancied that his hands could bind 
The tide of Thought, the Reason of mankind. 
Another follow'd bigoted, but strong, 
"Who, deeming Time had gone a century wrong, 
Strove with a desperate force to turn the hand, 
And bring the darkness back upon the land ; 
And Danton groan' d — "Oh, that these eyes might see 
This folly brought to shame, and France made free." 



VI. 

The vision brighten'd : Paris as of old 
Aroused her faubourgs as the tocsin toll'd ; 
Placed in each hand a weapon for the Pight, 
And fought its battle in the world's despite ; 
Dragg'd the degraded purple through the town, 
Poll'd in the dust the sceptre and the crown ; 
And read the nations listening far and near 
A mighty lesson full of hope and fear ; 
And Danton shouted in his sleep to see — 
"Now has the sorrow pass'd, and France is free.' 



VII. 

Another change and shifting of the parts — 
The fool was foil'd — the knave essay 'd his arts ; 
He hated Freedom and her priests and scribes, 
And swore to crush her, not with force, but bribes. 



78 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

The ignoble plan succeeded for a while — 

The halcyon days of Mammon and of guile ; 

The dense corruption spread from high to low, 

Till virtue perish'd in its overflow; 

And Danton groan'd — " Oh, worst of infamy ! 

When shall this sorrow pass, and France be free?" 

VIII. 

What more he saw was dim before his eyes, 
Shapes undefined and huge unsymmetries — 
Darkness and storm and thunder-clouds afar, 
And forms gigantic panoplied for war; 
But still a radiance glimmer'd through the cloud, — 
And a voice seem'd to speak to him aloud : — 
"Not all in vain the struggles thou hast seen, 
Truth bides her time and keeps her brow serene : 
Each seed she scatters bears its destined tree — 
The grief shall pass, and France shall yet be free." 



79 



GOOD-NIGHT. 



Hush, Nature ! let no jarring sound 

The drowsy air encumber, 
While she, the fairest of thy works, 

Is sinking into slumber. 
Be silent, earth ! ye winds, be still — 

Let nought from sleep alarm her; 
Nor midnight storm, nor sudden fire, 

Nor prowling robber harm her. 

ii. 

Good-night ! and be her pleasant rest 

Unbroken till the morrow ; 
May all her visions, like herself, 

Be sweet, and void of sorrow. 
Good-night ! and o'er her silent couch 

While darkness spreads her cover, 
May guardian angels watch and pray, 

And bless her as they hover. 



80 BALLADS AND LYEICAL POEMS. 

GOOD-MORROW. 

[Music by Frank Mori.] 



Shine brightly through her casement, sun ; 

Thou gale, soft odours bring her; 
Ye birds that hail the dawning day, 

Your sweetest music sing her ; 
Smile, Nature, on her, as she wakes, 

And hide all sights of sorrow ; 
And have no sounds but those of joy 

To bid my love — good-morrow ! 

ii. 

Good-morrow to those lustrous eyes, 

With bright good-humour beaming; 
Good-morrow to those ruddy lips, 

Where smiles are ever teeming. 
Good-morrow to that happy face, 

Undimm'd by cloud of sorrow. 
Good-morrow, heart that clings to mine — 

Good-morrow, love, good-morrow ! 



81 



A SONG, AFTEB A TOAST. 

I. 

If lie to whom this toast we drink 

Has brought the needy to his door, 
Or raised the wretch from ruin's brink 

From the abundance of his store : 
If he has sooth'd the mourner's woe, 

Or help'd young merit into fame, 
This night our cups shall overflow 

In honour of his name. 

II. 

If he be poor, and yet has striven 

To ease the load of human care ; 
If to the famish'd he has given 

One loaf that it was hard to spare ; 
If in his poverty erect, 

He never did one deed of shame, 
Fill high ! we'll drain in deep respect 

A bumper to his name. 

in. 
But rich or poor — if still his plan 

Has been to play an honest part, 
If he ne'er fail'd his word to man, 

Or broke a trusting woman's heart ; 
If Emulation fire his soul 

To snatch the meed of virtuous fame, 
Fill high ! we'll drain a flowing bowl 

In honour of his name. 

G 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



MY PLAYFELLOW. 



What though you're only five years old, 

A little roguish, romping fairy, 
And I'm a man of care and toil — 

We're comrades true, my little Mary 1 
We're friends and playmates, close and fond. 

And heedless of the wind or weather ; 
Out-doors or in, 'tis all the same, 

We leap, and laugh, and run together. 



IL 

We love to sit upon the grass 

In summer days, in shady valleys, 
Or play at merry " hide and seek " 

Behind the trees in garden alleys. 
And don't we wander forth alone, 

To gather crops of meadow daisies ? 
Or hunt the noisy grasshopper 

In all his green and secret places % 



in. 

And don't we catch the butterfly, 
With mealy pinions, sailing lightly? 

And don't you, when I let him free, 
Gravely decide, I acted rightly % 



MY PLAYFELLOW. 83 

And don't we teach the dog to beg, 
And little puss to frisk and caper ? 

And don't I paint you birds and fish, 
And cut you purses out of paper ? 

IV. 

And don't we spin our humming-top 

Together on the parlour table 1 
And don't your father call me fool, 

And smile to utter such a fable ? 
And don't I tell you fairy tales, 

At intercession of your mother ? 
And don't you kiss me when I've done, 

And ask me to begin another ? 



And don't you oft, with hands outstretch'd, 

And eyes that shine like sun-lit fountains, 
Protest you love me " big as trees," 

" Big as the world — and all its mountains?" 
And don't you sometimes fall asleep, 

Lock'd in my arms, quite worn and weary ? 
And don't I carry you to bed, 

Too drowsy for your prayers, my deary 1 

VI. 

Oh, yes ! we're friends and comrades true, 
There's not a bit of guile about you ; 

You shed such light around your path, 
I'd think the world was dark without you. 
g 2 



84 BALLADS AND LYBICAL POEMS. 

And if to fourscore years I live, 
However Time and Fate may vary, 

I'll wish no better friend than you, 
My little laughing, romping Mary. 



LOVE IN HATE. 



Once I thought I could adore him, 
Rich or poor, beloved the same ; 

Now I hate him and abhor him, 
Now I loathe his very name ; 

Spurn'd at when I sued for pity, 
Bobb'd of peace and virgin fame 



II. 

If my hatred could consume him, 
Soul and body, heart and brain ; 

If my will had power to doom him 
To eternity of pain ; 

I would strike — and die, confessing 
That I had not lived in vain. 



LOVE IN HATE. 85 



III. 



Oh, if in my bosom lying, 

I could work him deadly scathe ! 
Oh, if I could clasp him, dying, 

And receive his parting breath — 
In one burst of burning passion 

I would kiss him into death ! 



IV. 

I would cover with embraces 
Lips that once his love confess' 

And that falsest of false faces, 
Mad, enraptured, unrepress'd ; 

Then in agony of pity 

I would die upon his breast. 



86 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



LADY JANE. 



Oh, Lady Jane, dear Lady Jane, 

Those beautiful and earnest eyes 
Have shot their beams through many a brain, 

And prompted many a world of sighs. 
No wonder ! — stony-hard and cold 

Were he, who gazing on their light — 
Ay, were he eighty winters old — ■ 

Felt no pulsation of delight. 

II. 

But tell us, dearest Lady Jane, 

What secret witchery and spell 
Hasfc thou to rule the hearts of men, 

That not the hardest can rebel ? 
The hearts of men ? Not theirs alone ; 

For women do not love thee less 1 ? 
Thou hast some secret of thine own, 

Thou saucy little sorceress ! 



in. 

The blind old beggar on the road, 
Fed by thy bounty, loves thee more 

For gentle sympathy bestow'd, 

Than for the tribute from thy store. 



LADY JANE. 



The peevish beldame, sour'd by want, 
And teased by urchins far and near, 

Selects thee for her confidant, 

And breathes her sorrows in thine ear. 



IV. 

The kittens on the hearth prefer 

Thy soft caress, than ours more sweet ; 
And jealous hound, and snarling cur, 

Frolic with pleasure at thy feet. 
The parrot swinging to and fro, 

That sulks at others, talks to thee ; 
And tearful babes forget their woe, 

And cuddle, happy, round thy knee. 

v. 

In fact, there's something, lady dear, 

In thee, and on thee, and about — 
A power — a charm — an atmosphere — 

A fascination in and out, 
That makes all creatures, high and low, 

Love thee and trust thee. Tell us, then, 
The reason why we love thee so — 

Thou little iairy, Lady Jane ! 

VI. 

What can it be 1 for I confess 
I know of beauty great as thine ; 

Yet if it be not loveliness, 

'Tis something in thee more divine. 



88 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

'Tis not thy wit, or eloquence, 

And thou hast both in ample store ; 

'Tis not thy birth, or wealth, or sense, 
That makes us captive evermore. 



VII. 

What is it then 1 Thou canst not say — 

Then let me tell thee, Lady Jane : 
Tis bright good-humour, warm as day; 

'Tis sympathy for others' pain ; 
'Tis heart, and mind, and patience rich ; 

'Tis loving kindness, failing never ; 
These are thy spells, thou potent witch i 

We can't resist — we're thine for ever ! 



89 



THE PEAISE OF WOMEN. 

" My curse on those of women ill who speke — 
I praye to God that their neckys doe breke." 
Chaucek. 

Woman may err — Woman may give her mind 

To evil thoughts, and lose her pure estate ; 
But for one woman who affronts her kind 

By wicked passions and remorseless hate, 
A thousand make amends in age and youth, 

By heavenly Pity, by sweet Sympathy, 
By patient Kindness, by enduring Truth, 

By Love, supremest in adversity. 
Theirs is the task to succour the distress'd, 

To feed the hungry, to console the sad, 
To pour the balm upon the wounded breast, 

And find dear Pity, even for the bad. 
Blessings on Women ! In the darkest day 

Their love shines brightest ; in the perilous hour 
Their weak hands glow with strength our feuds to stay. 

Blessings upon them ! and if Man would show'r 
His condemnation on the few that err, 

Let him be calm, and cease his soul to vex ; 
Think of his mother, and for sake of her 

Forgive them all, and bless their gentler sex. 



90 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



SEKENITY. 

Standing alone, in vale or mountain -top, 

Upon the grassy plain or ocean shore, 

Or far away upon a ship at sea, 

We are the middle of the Universe. 

Around us as a centre, Earth and Heaven 

Describe their mystic circles evermore. 

We move; and all the radii shape themselves 

To the one point and focus of our eyes. 

But iu our mental life we disobey 

The law of circles: on the outer verge 

We stand for ever, sometimes looking down 

Upon extraneous evil far removed 

Beyond the bound of Fate's circumference, 

Adown dark tangents infinitely stretch'd 

Through gloomy Chaos, troubled by Despair. 

At other times we seek the sunniest verge, 

The amber and the purple blooms of Heaven, 

And strive with yearning eyes, made dim by tears, 

To pierce the secrets of a happier state. 

Exulting are we now, — and now forlorn. 

Lord, grant us wisdom ! grant that we may stand 

In the fair middle of the spiritual world, 

Undarken'd by the glooms of utter night, 

Undazzled by the noontide glow of day. 

True wisdom and serenity of soul 

Dwell in the centre, and avoid extremes. 



91 



THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 



I have a wondrous house to build, 

A dwelling, humble yet divine ; 
A lowly cottage to be fill'd 

With all the jewels of the mine. 
How shall I build it strong and fair? 
This noble house, this lodging rare, 

So small and modest, yet so great 1 
How shall I fill its chambers bare 

With use — with ornament — with state? 

II. 

My God hath given the stone and clay ; 

'Tis I must fashion them aright ; 
'Tis I must mould them day by day, 

And make my labour my delight ; 
This cot, this palace, this fair home, 
This pleasure-house, this holy dome, 

Must be in all proportions fit, 
That heavenly messengers may come 

To lodge with him who tenants it. 

in. 
No fairy bower this house must be, 

To totter at each gale that starts, 
But oi substantial masonry, 

Symmetrical in all its parts : 



92 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

Fit in its strength to stand sublime, 
For seventy years of mortal time, 

Defiant of the storm and rain, 
And well attemper'd to the clime 

In every cranny, nook, and pane. 



IV. 



I'll build it so, that if the blast 

Around it whistle loud and long, 
The tempest when its rage has pass'd 

Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. 
I'll build it so that travellers by 
Shall view it with admiring eye, 

For its commodiousness and grace: 
Firm on the ground — straight to the sky- 

A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. 



v. 



Thus noble in its outward form, 

Within I'll build it clean and white ; 
Not cheerless cold, but happy warm, 

And ever open to the light. 
No tortuous passages or stair, 
No chamber foul, or dungeon lair, 

No gloomy attic shall there be, 
But wide apartments order'd fair 

And redolent of purity. 



THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 93 



VI. 

With three compartments furnish'd well, 

The house shall be a home complete ; 
Wherein, should circumstance rebel, 

The humble tenant may retreat. 
The first a room wherein to deal 
With men for human nature's weal, 

A room where he may work or play, 
And all his social life reveal 

In its pure texture day by day. 



VII. 

The second, for his wisdom sought, 

Where, with his chosen book or friend, 
He may employ his active thought 

To virtuous and exalted end. 
A chamber lofty and serene, 
With a door-window to the green 

Smooth-shaven sward, and arching bowers, 
Where lore or talk or song between, 

May gild his intellectual hours. 



VIII. 

The third an oratory dim, 

But beautiful, where he may raise, 
Unheard of men, his daily hymn, 

Of love and gratitude and praise. 



94 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS 

Where he may revel in the light 
Of things unseen and infinite, 

And learn how little he may be, 
And yet how awful in thy sight, 

Inefiable Eternity! 



IX. 

Such is the house that I must build- 

This is the cottage — this the dome, 
And this the palace, treasure-fill'd 

For an immortal's earthly home. 
Oh noble work of toil and care ! 
Oh task most difficult and rare! 

Oh simple but most arduous plan ! 
To raise a dwelling-place so fair, — 

The sanctuary of a Man. 



95 



THE HISTOEY OF A PAIE OF EYES. 



"You? — tell the history of mine eyes? 

"Well — some men's fancies are unruly ! 
'Twould take three volumes at the least — 

Ay — twenty, — if you told it truly." 
" No matter : let me try the task, 

Though possibly my heart may rue it, 
If, gazing on their light meanwhile, 

I strive to render justice to it. 

II. 

" One morn — 'twas twenty Mays ago — 

The meadows gleam'd with flowery whiteness, 
When on the world those eyelids oped, 

And showed their inner orbs of brightness ; 
Two little gem-like spheres they were, 

That knew no change of day or morrow ; 
Yet shone 'mid tears, as if to prove 

The joy that had been born in sorrow. 



in. 

"Ere May a second time return'd, 

Those little worlds were worlds of graces ; 

They look'd upon the earth and sky 
And knew the light of loving faces. 



96 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

They wept — they glitter'd — wept again — 
And friends from strangers could remember, 

And garner'd smiles beneath their lids, 
To dart like meteors of November. 



IV. 

"Seven springs and summers cheer'd the earth- 
Seven winters howl'd with stormy bluster, 

And every season as it pass'd, 

Left on those eyes increasing lustre. 

They glow'd with many a baby-joy, 

Suffused with tears of childlike gladness, 

And sparkled with affection pure — 

With hope, and sympathy, and sadness. 

v. 

" Ten years : and then on Nature's face, 

Their long and silken lashes under, 
At sunlight, starlight, or the moon, 

They gazed with pleasure or with wonder. 
They loved all lovely things of earth — 

They beam'd with every sweet emotion — 
Turn'd to the ground with modest grace, 

Or look'd to Heaven with young devotion. 

VI. 

"But sixteen seasons wrought a change — 
They learn'd a secret — by this token : — 

That they could read in others' eyes 
The admiration never spoken. 



THE HISTORY OF A PAIR OF EYES. 97 

They learn'd -what tell-tale mirrors show'd — 
That whosoe'er might flout their bearer, 

There might be maids as fair, perchance, 
But not a living maiden fairer. 

VII. 

" The knowledge brought its natural fruit, 

But being link'd with gentle feeling ; 
With sense, and modesty, and truth, 

And virtue, past my wit's revealing ; 
Men's hearts were overthrown at once, 

And through the world, you bright enslaver, 
You walk'd — a thing of life and light — 

On whom to look was joy and favour. 

VIII. 

" The hearts you wounded, who shall count ? 

Talk of three volumes of romances ! 
A hundred could not chronicle 

The hurts, fatalities, mischances! 
I cannot tell such endless tales 

Half through, or quarter ; who could read 'em 1 
Then, oh, be spiteful — heartless — vain — 

And leave, oh, leave us to our freedom ! 

IX. 

"But while, as now, you win our hearts 
By sense and virtue, wit and kindness, 

We gaze — we doat — we kneel — we pray — 
The wisest worst, for utter blindness. 

H 



98 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

"Take pity, Clara, — make your choice — 
The story of your eyes I've told you; 

The sooner wed, the better fate 

For those who hope as they behold you.' 



So sang a knight of olden time ; 

The eyes he praised, with pleasure shining; 
And Clara tripping from the porch, 

Unloosed his arms around her twining. 
" I've made my choice, for love is blind, 

And it has proved my wit's undoing; 
So fix the day, you foolish knight — 

I'll marry you, and stop your wooing !" 



99 



NINETTE. 



Thou borrowest from that heaven of blue, 

Oh, maiden dear ! 
The depth of that cerulean hue 

In which thine eyes appear. 

"Within their orbs the sunshine lies 

Without eclipse ; 
And smiles, like meteors of the skies, 

Hun races on thy lips. 

Thou borrowest from the rising morn 

The colour fair, 
In which, thy temples to adorn, 

Streams thy o'erflowing hair ; — 

And from the summer evenuig's glow, 

On Alpine peaks, 
The mingling roses strewn on snow 

That decorate thy cheeks. 

Thou borrowest from all Nature's store 

Some charm or grace ; 
And hill and plain, — the sea and shore, — 

Yield tribute to thy face. 
h 2 



100 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
II. 

Pay, pay them back with usury, 

Oh, maiden dear ! 
With heaven-blue eyes look piously 

On Heaven's o'erarching sphere. 

Nature has lent thee smiles of light,— 

Repay in kind, 
With fair Contentment ever bright, 

And sunshine of the mind. 

If she have lent thy cheeks a hue, — 

The fairest wrought, — 
Oh, pay her back with feeling true, 

With love, and happy thought. 

For every gift, a gift impart; 

For face and form, 
Give her a soul serene, — a heart 

Pure, sympathetic, warm. 

So shall thy debt be overpaid 

With tribute free ; 
And Man, and Nature, — happy maid ! 

Be both in debt to thee. 



101 



THE QUAEEEL. 



" Hush, Joanna ! 'tis quite certain 
That the coffee was not strong; 

Own your error, I'll forgive you, — 
Why so stubborn in the wrong?" 

II. 

"You'll forgive me ! Sir, I hate you S 
You have used me like a churl; 

Have my senses ceased to guide me 1 
Do you think I am a girl 1 " 

IIL 

" Oh, no ! you're a girl no longer, 
But a woman form'd to please ; 

And it's time you should abandon 
Childish follies such as these." 

IV. 

" Oh, I hate you ! but why vex me ? 

If I'm old, you're older still; 
I'll no longer be your victim, 

And the creature of your will." 



102 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



" But, Joanna, why this pother ? 

It might happen I was wrong ; 
But, if common sense inspire me — 

Still, that coffee was not strong." 

VI. 

" Common sense ! you never had it ; 

Oh, that ever I was born ! 
To be wedded to a monster 

Who repays my love with scorn." 

VII. 

" Well, Joanna, we'll not quarrel ; 

What 's the use of bitter strife ] 
But I'm sorry I am married, — 

I was mad to take a wife." 

VIII. 

" Mad, indeed ! I'm glad you know it ; 

But, if law can break the chain, 
I'll be tied to you no longer 

In this misery and pain." 

IX. 

" Hush, Joanna ! shall the servants 
Hear you argue ever wrong? 

Can you not have done with folly ? — 
Own the coffee was not strong." 



THE QUARREL. 103 



" Oh ! you goad me past endurance, 
Trifling with my woman's heart ! 

But I loathe you, and detest you, — 
Villain ! monster ! let us part ! " 



XI. 



Long this foolish quarrel lasted, 
Till Joanna, half afraid 

That her empire was in peril, 
Summon'd never-failing aid ; — 



XII. 



Summon'd tears, in copious torrents, — 
Tears, and sobs, and piteous sighs ; 

Well she knew the potent practice, 
The artillery of the eyes. 



XIII. 



And it chanced as she imagined, — 
Beautiful in grief was she, — 

Beautiful to best advantage, 
And a tender heart had he. 



XIV. 



Kneeling at her side, he soothed her, 
" Dear Joanna ! I was wrong ; 

Nevermore I'll contradict you, — 
But, oh make my coffee strong ! " 



104: BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 



THE BEIDGE. 

Upon the solitary bridge the light 
Shone dim ; the wind swept howling on its way, 
And tower and spire stood hidden in the gray 
Half-darkness of the raw and rainy night. 
When one still young and fair, with eyes mad-bright, 
Paced up and down, and with a look of woe, 
Gazed on the waters gliding black below, 
Or the dull houses looming on her sight, — 
And said within herself, — "Can I endure 
Longer this weight of misery and scorn % 
Ah, no ! Love-blighted — sick at heart — and poor; — 
Deceived — undone — and utterly forlorn ! 
Why should I live 1 ? — forgive me, Lord!" she cried, 
Sprang sudden to the brink, dash'd headlong down 
— and died ! 



105 



THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 

AN APOLOGUE FOR POETS. 

In the deep quiet of an ancient wood, 
Two nightingales, that since the sun had set 
Had fill'd the enraptured solitude with song, 
Sat silent for awhile, and thus began, 
One with the other, interchange of thoughts. 

" I'm weary," said the one with weakest voice, 
" Of singing all night long to these dull boughs, 
With none to listen to my heavenly notes. 
What are to me these green insensate woods, 
Yon moon and stars, and the unheeding sky? 
I would have lovers wander in the shade 
At twilight hour, to listen to my voice 
And call it beautiful. I would have youths, 
Teeming with gentle fancies, quit their books, 
And bend a willing ear to my sweet strains : 
I would have sages hearken to my lay, 
And own me poet of the pensive night. 
Why should I waste my music on the winds, 
Or how sing on, abandon'd to neglect 1 
I will away, and force the callous crowd 
To be delighted. Through some city vast 
My voice shall sound, till busy men shall stop, 
And to my floods of swelling melody 
Give ear enraptured. Brother, come away !" 



106 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

"No," said the other — "I am happy here; 
To me all needless is the world's applause. 
Amid these oaks, surrounded by these hills, 
Lull'd by the dash of waters down the rocks, 
Look'd on by moon and stars, leave me to sing. 
My breast is full — my song an utterance 
Of joy, that gives me joy to breathe it forth ; 
My song its own reward. — Why should I court 
The ear of men, or pine in useless grief 
That hither comes no audience for my lays • 
Mine is a hymn of Gratitude and Love, 
An overflowing from my inmost heart ; 
And if men listen and are pleased, not less 
My pleasure in administering to theirs. 
But if none care to hear my melodies, 
Not the less happy would I be to sing." 

"Thou poor in spirit !" said the first ; "Not mine 
This dull contentment, this ignoble peace, — 
To which I leave thee. On adventurous wing 
I take my flight to the abodes of men, 
And they shall honour and exalt my name: — 
So fare thee well !" and as he said, he flew 
From his companion, scorning his low mind ; 
And ere the morning reach' d, on pinions free, 
A vast, smoke-mantled, dim metropolis, 
"With domes and columns, spires and monuments, 
And multitudinous chimneys tall as these, 
Towering towards the ever hazy sky ; 
And here alighting on a house-top, sat, 
And look'd about him. Far on every side 



THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 107 

Stretch' d the long line of streets and thoroughfares, 

Trod by a busy and impatient mass ; 

Church-bells rang heavily on the morning air, 

And chariots rattled o'er the dusty stones. 

Loud was the roaring of the multitude, 

Loud was the clink of hammers on the ear, 

And loud the whirling of incessant wheels, 

Pistons and pumps, revolving cylinders, 

And ever-hissing steam in factories vast. 

But nothing daunted by the hubbub round, 

And conscious of some utterance in himself, 

The ambitious nightingale began his song. 

'Twas a forced effort in the eye of Day, 

For bird like him, by Night alone inspired; 

But still he sang, and on the smoky air 

Ponr'd a full stream of no mean music forth. 

Till sunny noon, till lamplit eve, he sang, 

But no one listen'd : all men were absorb'd 

In the pursuit of pleasure or of gain, 

And had no time for melodies like his. 

Weary at heart the nightingale became, 

And disappointment rankled into hate : — 

"Alas!" said he, "the age of song is past! 

I'm born too late ! — Merit has no reward ; — 

The cold, unfeeling, and most grovelling Crowd 

Forsakes dear Poesy for love of wealth, 

And all forlorn and desolate am I." 

So saying, he outstretch'd his wings, and fled 
Back to his solitude, and sang no more ; 
And living voiceless — angry with himself, 



108 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

And with the world — he died before his time, 
And left no mourner to lament his fate. 

The other nightingale, more wise than he, 
With fuller voice and music more divine, 
Stay'd in the woods, and sang but when inspired 
By the sweet breathing of the midnight wind — 
By the mysterious twinkling of the stars — 
By adoration of the Great Supreme — 
By Beauty in all hues and forms around — 
By Love and Hope, and Gratitude and Joy; 
And thus inspired, the atmosphere was rife 
With the prolong'd sweet music that he made. 
He sought no listeners — heedless of applause — 
But sang as the stars shone, from inward light, 
A blessing to himself and all who heard. 

The cotter, wending weary to his home, 
Linger'd full oft to listen to his song, 
And felt 'twas beautiful, and bless'd the strain ; 
And lonely students, wandering in the woods, 
Loved nature more because this bird had sung. 



109 



THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 

ANOTHER APOLOGUE FOE POETS. 

I SAW a crowd of people on the shore 

Of a deep, dark illimitable sea ; 

Pale-faced they were, aud turn'd their eyes to earth, 

And stoop'd low down, and gazed upon the sands ; 

And ever and anon they roam'd about, 

Backwards and forwards ; and whene'er they stopp'd 

It was to gather on the weedy beach 

The dulse and tangles, or the fruitful shells, 

"Whose living tenants fasten'd to the rocks 

They pluck'd away, and listlessly devour'd. 

And when they'd eaten all their fill, they sat 
One by the other on the placid shore, 
And with much labour and incessant care 
Polish'd the shells, until to brightest hues, 
Various and intermingling, they were wrought ; 
And these they hung around their necks and limbs, 
And look'd each other in the face, and smiled. 
This done, they wander'd on the shore again, 
And ate and ate, and drank and drank, and slept, 
Day after day — night after night — the same. 

Meanwhile the firmament was bright with stars 
And from the clouds aerial voices came 
In tones of melody, now low, now loud ; 
Angelic forms were hovering around 
In robes of white and azure ; heaven itself 



- 



110 BALLADS AXD LYRICAL FOEMS. 

Appear'd to open and invite the gaze 
Of these poor stooping earth-enamour'd crowds. 
But they ne'er look'd, nor heard. Though the deep sea 
Plash'd phosphorescent ; though dim seen afar, 
The white sails and the looming hulls of ships 
Gleam'd through the darkness, and the pregnant air 
Gave birth to visions swathed in golden fire — 
They look'd not. Though the heavenly voices call'd, 
And told them of the world of life and light, 
Of Beauty, Power, Love, Mystery, and Joy, 
That lay beyond, and might be seen of those, 
However lowly, that would lift their eyes — 
They heeded not, nor heard ; but wander'd on, 
Plucking their weeds and gathering their shells. 
And if they heard the murmur of the sea 
That bore them tidings of the Infinite — 
They knew it not ; but lay them idly down, 
Thought of the morrow's food, and sank to sleep. 
And when they woke, with their care-deaden'd eyes, 
And pallid faces, and toil-burden'd backs, 
Began once more their customary search 
Upon the bare and melancholy sands ; 
As if that search were all the end of life, 
And all things else but nothingness and void. 

But 'mid that low-brow'd multitude were some 
Of larger faculties, and foreheads fair, 
Laden with knowledge : and of eyes that beam'd 
Intelligence, and quick desire to know ; — 
Who saw the visions teeming in the air ; 
"Who heard the voices breathing in the sky; 
Who o'er the illimitable waters stretch'd 
Their eager gaze, and through the gloom descried 



THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. Ill 

Shadows of beauty, which, but half reveal'd 

Added a wonder to their loveliness ; — 

Who heard celestial music night and morn 

Play'd in the lap of ocean, or attuned 

To every motion of the ceaseless wind ; — 

Who heard th' harmonious cadence of the stars ; 

Who saw the angels with their azure wings ; 

And lifted up their voices in a song 

Of praise and joy, that not from them were hidden, 

By blinding avarice and worldly care 

Of shells and sea-weed, all th' immensity 

Of nature — all th' infinitude of heaven — 

And all the hope, bright as a certainty, 

That here, upon this low and gloomy shore, 

Our life is but a germ, that shall expand 

To fruit and foliage in a brighter clime. 

And all of these spake to the crowd in song 
And bade them lift their dull earth-bending eyes, 
And see how beautiful were Life and Time ; 
And bade them listen to the eternal chant 
Of Nature, overflowing with its joy, 
And the mysterious hymn for ever sung 
By Earth to Heaven, of which their words inspired 
Were the interpreters to human kind. 

And some of these were angry with the crowd, 
Who would not listen, and whose ears were vex'd 
With all that would distract them from their shells, 
And weltering dulse and tangles on the shore. 

But one of them with venerable hair, 
And a large brow, and face serene as Heaven, 
Bebuked them for their wrath with mild sad words, 
And said — " Oh brothers, weary not your souls 1 



112 BALLADS AND LYEICAL POEMS. 

If they are happy with their weeds and shells, 

Let them alone : — And if their hearts prefer 

Pebbles to stars, and sound of their own feet 

Plashing amid the waters, to the song 

Of angels, and the music of the spheres — 

Let them alone. Why should ye vex yourselves? 

Are ye not happy that to your keen sight 

Those things are shown which they refuse to see? 

Are ye not happy that your ears can hear 

The oracles of Nature, mute to them ? 

That ye are priests and prophets, though contemn'd? 

Brothers ! — be wise — make music to your minds ! 

For he who singeth from his own full heart 

Has his reward even in the utterance. 

Brothers! — be wise — and sing your songs in peace!" 



113 



A TRAVELLER'S TALE. 



Op what shall travellers talk on rainy days? 

Of rain and snow ? the sunshine and the storm ? 

Of Politics ? Eeligion 1 Scandal ? Shop 1 

Or personal anecdote 1 The weather 1 No ; — 

The topic is full stale. Of politics 1 

'Tis dangerous ground. Of creed? more dangerous still. 

Of scandal 1 Heaven forefend ! Or of the shop ? 

I prithee let us leave the shop alone ! 

Of personal anecdote 1 Why, what is that 

But the old scandal in a new disguise ! 

"What shallwe talk of, then? I know not well, 

Unless you hear a mournful thing that chanced 

Here in the Pyrenees, two years ago. 

I parted from the heroes of the tale, 

Two friends and comrades, in this very rocm, 

And little thought, amid their merriment, 

Their lusty health and joyous hopefulness, 

How soon the end would come. This cabaret 

Resounding now with laughter, jest, and talk, 

Seems no fit scene to lodge a tragedy. 

Yet so it was : — but let me tell the tale. 



'Twas in September, just two years ago, 
That Vere and Huntley, youths scarce twenty-one, 
And fresh from Cambridge on their way to Spain 
Stopp'd in the Pyrenees. They did not hunt, 
Or shoot, or angle, or delight in sport, 
I 



114 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

But seem'd to glory in ascending hills, 
Scaling high rocks, and tracking waterfalls. 
They loved the rude and dizzy mountain-top, 
And all the splendour of its wildest scenes. 
Vere had a poet's eye and painter's hand, 
And Huntley, though no poet, stored his mind 
With images of beauty : — both would walk 
Three leagues ere breakfast to a precipice, 
To see the sunrise in its majesty ; 
Ever on foot, and ever full of joy. 
Their cheeks were tann'd in the healthy open air ; 
Their limbs were vigorous, their hearts were light, 
Their talk was cheerful as the song of birds ; 
And when they laugh'd, the clear loud volleys rang 
With such contagious music, that I've laugh'd 
For very sympathy, yet knew not why. 

It was a lovely morning, crisp and fresh, 

When they invited me to share their walk, 

And trace a mountain-torrent to its source. 

They had no object but the exercise, 

And search for natural beauty, ever new. 

But I had promised Jean Baptiste, the guide, 

To hunt the chamois with him, and 1 long'd 

For my own sport, more hazardous than theirs, 

And more congenial to my ruder tastes. 

And so we parted. "We'll be back," said Vere, 

" At six, to dinner in the Cabaret : 

Wilt thou dine with us, Nimrod of the hills?" — 

— " With all my heart !" and so we went our ways, 

And far adown the valley I could hear 

Their jocund voices singing English songs, 



a traveller's tale. 115 

And catch amid the pauses of the tune 
The echoes of their laughter pn the wind. 

I had good sport upon the hills that d&j- 

When I return'd, I noticed as I came 

A crowd of peasants standing at the door; 

Here was a group of women, — there of men ; 

And all discussing something that had chanced, 

With quick gesticulation, and confused 

And broken sentences : — some raised their hands, 

Look'd up to heaven, and shook their heads and sigh'd. 

While twenty voices speaking all at once, 

Told the same story twenty different ways. 

"Here comes the other Englishman," said one: 

"There's a sad sight within!" "Ay! sad indeed!" 

Replied another. Quickly passing through, 

I forced my way into the inner room, 

And there beheld poor Huntley on the bed 

With Vere beside him, kneeling on the ground, 

Clasping his hands, and burying his face 

Between them, and the body of his friend. 

In all the beauty and the pride of youth, 

Huntley went forth at morning, and ere night 

He lay a corpse. — An awful loveliness 

Sat on his clay-cold form ; so calm he lay 

Amid the hurry and anxiety 

And deep distress and pitying words and groans 

Of those around — it seem'd as he alone 

Of all that crowd were happy. He was dead; — 

But how he died, 'twas long ere I could learn 

From the survivor, who with senseless words 

And sobs, and groans, and prayers to Heaven for help, 



116 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

Broke off continually what lie began. 

I learn'd it afterwards when he grew calm, 

And loved him ever since. They'd track'd the stream 

From morn till noon, discovering as they went, 

New beauties, grandeurs, and sublimities 

At every step. Right well in all her moods, 

Those friends congenial loved dear Nature's face. 

'Twas now the torrent with its burst and fall, 

That charm'd their sight ; now, 'twas th' umbrageous 

arch 
Of trees, high-perch'd on the o'erhanging rock ; 
Then 'twas the rock itself, with lichens grown, 
And pine and larch ; — and then it was a glimpse 
Betwixt the crags into a world beneath, 
Stretching in loveliness of cultured plains, 
Studded with farms and clustering villages 
That fill'd them with delight. — And so they clomb 
From crag to crag, and conquer'd as they went 
More perils than they knew: lured ever on 
By novelty of beauty and the heat 
Of young adventure ; but they clomb too well. 
Yere took an upward track, and scaled the crag, 
While Huntley, travelling lower, reach'd a ledge, 
He knew not how — where — pausing on the brink 
With scarcely room enough to lodge his heel, 
He could not stand with safety — or descend 
Without the risk of falling from the height, 
Two hundred feet into a chasm below, 
Where boil'd the angry flood o'er jutting rocks. 
Ten feet above him in security 
Stood Vere — alarm'd, — but how to reach his friend 
Seem'd to defy all knowledge to discern, 



a traveller's tale. 117 

Or known, his utmost daring to attempt. 
To mount seem'd easier than to clamber down; 
And he was growing dizzy where he stood. 
Yere stretch'd himself upon the beetling edge 
Of the tall precipice, and held his hand 
Toward his friend, in hope, if hands could meet, 
He might, by help of some projecting root, 
Some angle of the rock, or tufted herb, 
Hoist him in safety; but the attempt was vain. 
Their hands, by utmost stress of yearning grasp 
Could reach no nearer than a long arm's length ; 
So Yere bethought him of his walking-stick, 
An old companion of his mountain walks, 
And stretch'd the handle to his eager friend, 
That he might grasp it with his strong right hand, 
And with the left spring upward to the root, 
Twisted and sinuous, of a mountain ash 
That nodded o'er the stream ; and by this aid 
Attain the safe high platform of the rock. 
He caught the friendly aid; but as he grasp'd, 
He felt it lengthening — lengthening — in his hand; 
And his eyes swam in horror as he saw 
The handle separating from the stick, 
Leaving a scabbard in the hand of Yere, 
The sword in his. Yere shriek'd in agony: 
He had forgotten. Huntley groan'd but once — 
Cried to his God for mercy on his soul, 
And lost his footing. Down amid the rocks 
He fell — and fell again, and all was o'er, 

When Yere descended by the usual path 

And found his friend, the breath of life had fled ; 



118 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

The skull was fractured, but his face unhurt, 

Seem'd as he slumber'd, while his stiff cold hand 

Still held the fatal sword-stick in his grasp. 

They brought the body to the Cabaret, 

And on the third day laid him in his grave. 

I thought, at times, two other deaths would fill 

The awful measure of this tragedy. 

That Vere's remorse, contrition, and despair, 

At his unhappy, but most innocent act, 

"Would end his days. Yet though his grief was great, 

'Twas nothing to the misery I saw 

When Huntley's mother, young and beautiful, 

Although her son was twenty years of age,— 

Hasten'd from London to behold the grave 

"Where they had lain her darling. Let me close 

The sad recital : — language fails to tell 

The holy madness of a grief like hers. 



COX (BEOS.) AND WTMAN, PEINTEBS, GBEAT QUEEN-STBEET. 



Wim from \\t litotaras. 



#oitts front ijje WLuritms. 

MOUNTAIN STREAMS. 

AX ASPIBATIOST FROU TOWX. 

What time the fern puts forth its rings, 

What time the early throstle sings, 

I love to fly the murky town, 

And tread the moorlands, bare and brown 

From greenest level of the glens 

To barest summit of the Bens, 

To trace the torrents where they flow, 

Serene or brawling, fierce or slow; 

To linger pleased, and loiter long, 

A silent listener to their song. 

Farewell, ye streets ! Again I'll sit 
On crags to watch the shadows flit ; 
To list the buzzing of the bee, 
Or branches waving like a sea ; 
To hear far off the cuckoo's note, 
Or lark's clear carol high afloat, 

B 



VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And find a joy in every sound, 
Of air, the water, or the ground ; 
Of fancies full, though fixing nought, 
And thinking — heedless of my thought. 

Farewell ! and in the teeth of care 
I'll breathe the buxom mountain air, 
Feed vision upon dyes and hues 
That from the hill-top interfuse, 
White rocks, and lichens born of spray, 
Dark heather-tufts, and mosses grey, 
Green grass, blue sky, and boulders brown, 
With amber waters glistening clown, 
And early flowers, blue, white, and pink, 
That fringe with beauty all the brink. 

Farewell, ye streets ! Beneath an arch 
Of drooping birch or feathery larch, 
Or mountain-ash, that o'er it bends, 
I'll watch some streamlet as it wends ; 
Some brook whose tune its course betrays, 
Whose verdure tracks its .hid den ways — 
Verdure of trees and bloom of flowers, 
And music fresher than the showers, 
Soft dripping where the tendrils twine; 
And all its beauty shall be mine. 

Ay, mine, to bring me joy and health, 
And endless store of mental wealth — 
Wealth ever given to hearts that warm 
To loveliness of sound or form, 



MOUNTAIN STREAMS. 

And that can see in Nature's face 
A hope, a beauty, and a grace — 
That in the city or the woods, 
In thorougLxares or solitudes, 
Can live their life at Nature's call, 
Despising nothing, loving all. 

Sweet streams, that over summits leap, 
Or fair in rock-hewn basins sleep ; 
That foaming burst in bright cascades, 
Or toy with cowslips in the shades ; 
That shout till earth and sky grow mute. 
Or tinkle lowly as a lute ; 
That sing a song of lusty joy, 
Or murmur ]ike a love-lorn boy ; 
That creep or fall, that flow or run — 
I dote upon you every one. 

For many a day of calm delight, 
And hour of pleasure stol'n from night ; 
For morning freshness, joy of noon, 
And beauty rising with the moon ; 
For health, encrimsoner of cheeks, 
And wisdom gain'd on mountain -peaks ; 
For inward light from Nature won, 
And visions gilded by the sun ; 
For fancies fair and waking dreams — 
I love you all, ye mountain streams. 



E 2 



VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



MELODIES AND MYSTEEIES. 

Wouldst thou know what the blithe bird pipeth, 

High in the morning air? 
"Wouldst thou know what the bright stream singeth, 

Rippling o'er pebbles bare ? 
Sorrow the mystery shall teach thee, 

And the words declare. 

Wouldst thou find in the rose's blossom 

More than thy fellows find? 
More in the fragrance of the lily 

Than odour on the wind 1 ? 
Love Nature, and her smallest atoms 

Shall whisper to thy mind. 

"Wouldst thou know what the moon discourseth 

To the docile sea? 
Wouldst hear the echoes of the music 

Of the far infinity ? 
Sorrow shall ope the founts of knowledge, 

And heaven shall sing to thee. 

Wouldst thou see through the riddle of Being 

Further than others can? 
Sorrow shall give thine eyes new lustre 

To simplify the plan; 
And love of God and thy kind shall aid thee 

To end what it began. 



MELODIES AND MYSTERIES. 

To Love and Sorrow all Nature speaketh; 

If the riddle be read, 
They the best can see through darkness 

Each divergent thread 
Of its mazy texture, and discover 

Whence the ravel spread. 

Love and Sorrow are sympathetic 

With the earth and skies; 
Their touch from the harp of Nature bringeth 

The hidden melodies ; 
To them the eternal chords for ever 

Vibrate in harmonies. 



VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
THE MAN IN THE DEAD SEA. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

Walking on the Dead Sea shore, 
Meditating evermore, 
Underneath the burning ray 
Of intolerable day, 
I beheld a fearful thing — 

Bloody deed as e'er was done, 
Wrought, unblushing, unrelenting, 

In the presence of the sun. 

Fair, and young, and bright was he, 
Who that morning walk'd with me 
By the margin of the sea ; 
Calm, and eloquent, and wise, 

Radiant in immortal youth ; 
Knowledge sparkled in his eyes, 

From his forehead living truth. 
He was a youth indeed divine, 
A master and a friend of mine, 
For whose dear sake I would have given 
All on the mortal side of heaven. 

We talk'd together and paced along ; 
We did no mortal creature wrong ; 
And sometimes sitting on the sands, 

Or on the jutting rocks below, 
He look'd at me, and clasp'd my hands, 

And told me things I ought to know— 



THE MAN IN THE DEAD SEA. 

Things of heaven and things of earth, 
Things of wisdom and of mirth ; 
The wisdom cheerful, the mirth most wise, 
And both brimful of mysteries. 

There came a woman by the way — 

A stately woman, proud and strong ; 
Her robe of purple velvet shone, 
Like a starry night, with precious stone, 

And trail'd the sands as she swept along. 
She wore a dagger at her side, 

Jewel -hilted, bright, and keen : 
You might have told, by her crown of gold, 

This gorgeous woman was a queen ; 
But more by her eyes, that flash'd the fire 

Of one accustom'd to control ; 
To rule in awe, and give the law 

That binds the body and the soul. 
And, in her train, there follow'd her 

A well-arm'd troop of stalwart men, 
So bloody and bare, I do not care 

Ever to see their like again. 



My friend arose and look'd at her ; 

Calm and beautiful he stood, 
With such magnificence of eye 

As God but gives unto the good. 
She scowl'd at him ; each quivering limb 

In all her body spake her wrath ; 
And her fearful tongue loud curses flung 

At the mild presence in her path : 



VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

" Monster of evil ! fiend of guile ! 

What brings thee here to blast my sight ? 
But since thou darest, in the day, 
To meet and brave me in the way, 

We'll try thy power — we'll know thy right." 

"Lady," he said, and mildly spoke, 

While heavenly beauty lit his face, 
"My God hath made me what I am, 

And given me an abiding-place ; 
And if my presence please thee not, 

The world is wide — thou need'st not come 
To slay me in each quiet spot, 

Where I have sanctified a home. 
Thou'st taken from me wide domains, 

And folio w'd me with hate and scorn ; 
Enjoy thine own — let me alone — 

I wait in patience for the Morn." 

A frenzy flush'd her burning brow, 

A rage too mighty to contain ; 
Her nostrils widen d, and seem'd to smoke ; 
She grasp'd her neck as she would choke, 

And then, like one who suffer' d pain, 
Her trembling lips she did compress ; 
Her cheeks grew cold and colourless. 
But soon the madness of her blood 
Boil'd in her bosom where she stood ; 
Her eyes seem'd coals of living flame, 
And incoherent curses came, 
Gasping and gurgling, from her mouth; — 
Never tornado of the south 



THE MAN IN THE DEAD SEA. 

Made half the wreck as, in that hour, 
She would have made, had she the power. 

My friend stood by, with folded arms, 

Serene, and innocent, and pure ; 
And when she saw that he but smiled 

At all her hate, she could endure 
No longer on his face to look, 

But smote it with her jewell'd hand : 
" Insensate wretch ! " she fiercely said, 

" Let me not slay thee where I stand ; 
I will not stab thee to the heart, 

Lest, in my haste, I mar delight, 
And thou shouldst die and end thy pain 

Too suddenly before my sight. 
Not yet thy venomous blood shall flow, 
But I will slay thee ere I go !" 

Her body-guards, so fierce and grim, 
Seized his arms and pinion'd him ; 
And every one, with his gauntlet on, — 

An iron gauntlet, heavy to bear, — 
Smote him on his cheeks and eyes, 

And bruised his lips, so ruddy fair, 
Till the blood started, and over-dyed 

The bloom of his face with gory red; 
And then they spat on him in spite, 

And heap'd foul curses on his head. 
And he — what could he do but pray, 

And let them work their cruel will ? — 
Turn'd his looks to the judging sky, 

Appealing, though forgiving still. 



10 VOTCES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Then from his lily skin they tore 

Every vestment that he bore ; 

Smote him, threw him on the ground, 

And his limbs with fetters bound ; 

Naked, helpless, and forlorn, 

Mark for all their wrath and scorn ; 

And with lying words, accused 

Of every shame, deceit, and crime ; 
And, when once he strove to speak, 

Fill'd his mouth with sand and slime ; 
Stamping on him as he lay 
Bound and bleeding on the way; 
And I, alas ! alone, alone ! 
Could but curse them and bemoan 
That I could not, as I trod, 
Grasp th' avenging bolts of God. 



And as he lay upon the beach, 

Deprived of motion and of speech, 

The queen, that woman so proud and fierce, 

Look'd upon him with feverish joy ; 
Her fiery glances seem'd to pierce 

Through and through the bleeding boy ; 
She put her hand on his naked breast, 

And felt his heart : " Ah ! well/' said she, 
"It beats and beats, but shall not beat 

To vex me thus incessantly." 
And she drew the poniard from her side, 

Slowly, calmly, sheath and all; 
Unsheathed it, felt if its edge were sharp, 

And dipp'd its point in poisonous gall; 



THE MAN IN THE DEAD SEA. 11 

And, kneeling down, with flashing face 
Gazed upon him in that place. 



She did not stab him : she grasp'd his flesh 

As if she'd tear it from his bones ; 
Then took the slime from his bleeding mouth, 

That she might hear his piteous groans. 
Pie faintly said, " Thou canst not kill ; 
My charmed life defies thy will." 
" I can," she answer' d, whispering low ; — 
" This is the death that thou shalt know. 
Thy days are number'd — thy race is run; 
Thou art an insult to the sun." 
And in his breast, up to the hilt, 

She plunged the dagger, and wrench'd it round, 
Then drew it out with a joyous cry, 

And pointed to the ghastly wound ; 
Then drove it in again — again, 

With force redoubled every time ; 
And left it sticking in his heart 

For very luxury of crime. 

Sense and motion left his frame, 

From his lips no breathing came : 

"He's dead," quoth she; "he's dead at last, 

And all my agony is past. 

Take him up ! let the Dead Sea wave 

Moat him about without a grave ! 

Take him up and throw him in ! 

In these waters none can sink ; — 
'Mid the foul naphtha let him swim, 



12 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

To gorge the vultures, limb by limb, 

When they come to the water's brink ! 
And if they come not, let him lie, 
Rotting betwixt the wave and sky ! — 
Take him by the heels and chin, 
And spit on him, and cast him in ! " 

They twined their coarse hands in his hair ; 
They took his body, so white and fair ; 
They spat upon his patient face, 
Pale, but fill'd with heavenly grace ; 
They took him up, and in the sea, 
They cast him ignominiously. 
And the fearful woman, proud and strong, 
The fiendish woman who did the wrong, 
Bade clarion sound, and trumpet play, 
And went exulting on her way. 

A sudden wind — a treacherous wind — 

Arose upon that Dead Sea shore; 
The heavy waves began to swell, 

To chafe, and foam, and lash, and roar ; 
A gloom o'erspread the clear blue sky : — 
Once alone I could descry 
His fair white limbs go floating by 

On the crest of a distant wave ; 
And I sat me down upon the sand, 
Wailing that I, with strong right hand, 

Had not snatch'd him from the grave, 
And smitten the murd'ress to the dust 
Ere she sacrificed the just. 



THE MAN IN THE DEAD SEA. 

All tliat day the storm blew high, 
And all that day I linger'd there ; 

There was no living thing but I 

On the shore of that sad sea, 

And I was moaning piteously. 

Towards the night the wind blew fair, 

And the silver rim of the bright new moon 
Shone in a deep cerulean air, 

And look'd at itself in the salt lagoon. 

And there was silence, cold as death ; 

Not a motion but my breath. 



Long I sat upon the shore, 

Brooding on that cruel wrong, 
Wondering if for evermore 

The evil thing should be the strong : 
When I heard a sudden sound, 
And saw a phosphorescent track 
On the breast of the waves so dull and black. 
I listen'd — I could plainly hear 
The measured stroke, precise and clear, 
Of a swimmer swimming near : — 
I look'd — I saw the floating locks, 

The face upturn'd, the bosom brave, 
The calm full eyes, that look'd on me 
Through the darkness of the sea ; 

The strong limbs, battling with the wave : — 
I saw the motion — I heard the breath, 
I knew his victory over death. 



14 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

It was my friend, my living friend ; 

I clasp'd him, clad him, wept for joy. 
" They may think," he said, " to strike me dead, 

They can but wound me — not destroy. 
The strongest bands, the fastest chain, 
On my free limbs will not remain ; 
For the deepest wounds that hate can strike, 

I find a healing in the air; 
Even poison'd weapons cannot kill ; 

They're powerless on the life I bear. 
And she, whose hate pursues me still, 

A queen superb, of lofty line, 
Shall have her day, then fade away, 

And all her empire shall be mine." 



<r~S^(^is^^Sl^- 



THE FOLLOWER. 15 



THE FOLLOWEK. 



" "Why dost thou look so sad and wan ? 
And why art thou so woe-begone 1 
Why dost thou mutter words of fear? 
Do I not love thee, father dear ? 
Is not earth a place of joy? 
Tell me, father, tell thy boy." 

II. 

" There is a fiend doth follow me ; 
A fearful fiend thou canst not see, — 
But I behold him. Day or night 
He is not absent from my sight : 
I know thou lovest me, O my child, — 
But this demon drives me wild. 

in. 

" The world was once both good and fair, 
There was a glory in the air, 
When my heart was pure and young, 
By guilt and misery unwrung; 
But a demon such as this, 
Makes an agony of bliss. 



16 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

IV. 

" He besets my daily path, 
I am the victim of his wrath ; 
He smears his fingers o'er my meat, 
And poisons everything I eat ; 
Puts fatal acid in my drink — 
Oh, it is misery to think ! 

v. 

" He lies beside me in my bed ; 
He places thorns beneath my head; 
He sits upon my suffering breast, 
And sends the dreams that mar my rest 
He tracks my steps where'er I stray, 
And gibes and mocks me night and day. 

vi. 

"When sympathetic friends condole, 
And whisper comfort to my soul, 
This spiteful devil comes to and fro, 
And turns each friend into a foe ; 
Perverts my comfort into pain, 
Maddening my heart and brain. 

VII. 

"When I think I'm all alone, 
I start to hear his mocking groan ; 
I see his fearful face and eyes, — 
That hellish face which multiplies, 



THE FOLLOWER. 17 

And fills the room from roof to floor 
With scowling demons evermore, 

VIII 

" Cruel is he ; his power is great ; 
He pursues me ; he is fate. 
If I look to heaven, and pray, 
I see his dreadful shape mid- way; 
And ev'n the placid stars assume 
His sneering likeness in the gloom. 

IX. 

"He leads my steps to dark, deep pools, 
And says, 'JSTone live but wretched fools.' 
He puts sharp weapons in my sight, 
And shows me poison, ruby bright, 
And whispers, if I like him net, 
How soon my freedom may be got. 



" At times I think my heart will break ; 
But I resist him for thy sake : 
His power departs when thou art near — 
Of thy sweet face he stands in fear ; 
And if thou'lt love me, my boy, 
I'll grapple with him, and destroy." 

XI. 

" Father, I love thee : I will pray 
For strength to drive this fiend away. 
c 



18 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And if thou wilt be bold of heart, 
I know the demon will depart ; 
And I will walk with thee abroad, 
And scare him with the name of God. 



XII. 

"I'll lie beside thee in the night, 
He shall not come to plague thy sight. 
Why should his face fill up the skies 
With hideousness and mockeries'? 
There are fair faces up in heaven, 
That always smile on the forgiven. 



XIII. 

" They beam upon us : they are strong : 
This fiend shall not resist them long. 
We'll see them in the stars and moon, 
We'll see them in the sun at noon ; 
We'll see them in the leaves and flowers, 
And hear them singing 'mid the bowers. 



XIV. 

He is but one : why should we fear, 
When smiling angels fill the sphere? 
And one among them known to thee — 
Chief angel of my memory — 
My mother, dead, and gone before!" — 
Talk thus, my child, I'll fear no more. 



THE FOLLOWER. 19 



XV. 



"Thy heart is pure, thy speech is mild, 
I gain instruction from a child : 
The fiend that haunts me must depart, — 
He cannot vex me where thou art — 
Thy mother's memory ! God ! and thee ! 
The fiend has fled — my soul is free ! '' 



c2 



20 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



WE AEE WISER THAN WE KNOW. 

Thou, who in the midnight silence 

Lookest to the orbs on high, 

Feeling humbled, yet elated, 

In the presence of the sky; 

Thou, who minglest with thy sadness 

Pride ecstatic, awe divine, 

That even thou canst trace their progress 

And the law by which they shine, — 

Intuition shall uphold thee, 

Ev'n though Reason drag thee low; 

Lean on faith, look up rejoicing — 

We are wiser than we know. 

Thou, who hearest plaintive music, 

Or sweet songs of other days; 

Heaven-revealing organs pealing, 

Or clear voices hymning praise, 

And wouldst weep, thou know'st not wherefore, 

Though thy soul is steep'd in joy, 

And the world looks kindly on thee, 

And thy bliss hath no alloy, — 

Weep, nor seek for consolation, 

Let the heaven-sent droplets flow, 

They are hints of mighty secrets — 

We are wiser than we know/ 



WE ARE WISER THAX WE KNOW. 21 

Thou, who in the noon-time brightness 
Seest a shadow undefined; 
Hearst a voice that indistinctly 
Whispers caution to thy mind: 
Thou, who hast a vague foreboding 
That a peril may be near, 
Even when Xature smiles around thee, 
And thy Conscience holds thee clear, 
Trust the warning — look before thee — 
Angels may the mirror show, 
Dimly still, but sent to guide thee — 
We are wiser than we knoio. 

Countless chords of heavenly music, 
Struck ere earthly time began, 
Vibrate in immortal concord 
Through the auswering soul of man : 
Countless rays oi heavenly glory 
Shine through spirit pent in clay, 
On the wise men at then labours, 
On the children at their play. 
Man has gazed on heavenly secrets, 
Simn'd himself in heavenly glow, 
Seen the glory; heard the music; — 
We are wiser than we know. 



22 VOICES PROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE CHILD AND THE MOUENEES. 

A little child, beneath a tree, 

Sat and chanted cheerily 

A little song, a pleasant song, 

Which was — she sang it all day long — 

"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall, 

But a good God reigns over all!" 

There pass'd a lady by the way, 
Moaning in the face of day : 
There were tears upon her cheek, 
Grief in her heart too great to speak; 
Her husband died but yester-morn, 
And left her in the world forlorn. 

She stopp'd and listen'd to the child, 

That look'd to Heaven, and, singing, smiled; 

And saw not, for her own despair, 

Another lady, young and fair, 

Who, also passing, stopp'd to hear 

The infant's anthem ringing clear. 

For she, but few sad days before, 
Had lost the little babe she bore; 



THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS. 23 

And grief was heavy at her soul, 
As that sweet memory o'er her stole, 
And show'd how bright had been the Past, 
The Present drear and overcast. 

And as they stood beneath the tree, 

Listening, soothed, and placidly, 

A youth came by, whose sunken eyes 

Spake of a load of miseries ; 

And he, arrested like the twain, 

Stopp'd to listen to the strain. 

Death had bow'd the youthful head 
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed : 
Her marriage robes were fitted on, 
Her fair young face with blushes shone, 
When the destroyer smote her low, 
And left the lover to his woe. 

And these three listen 5 d to the song, 
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong, 
Which that child, the live-long day, 
Chanted to itself in play: 
"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall, 
But a good God reigns over all." 

The widow's lips impulsive moved; 
The mothers grief, though unreproved, 
Soften' d, as her trembling tongue 
Repeated what the infant sung; 
And the sad lover, with a start, 
Conn'd it over to his heart. 



24 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And though the child — if child it were, 
And not a seraph, sitting there — 
"Was seen no more, the sorrowing three 
"Went on their way resignedly, 
The song still ringing in their ears — 
"Was it music of the spheres? 

Who shall tell? They did not know. 
But in the midst of deepest woe 
The strain recurr'd when sorrow grew, 
To warn them, and console them too: 
"When the wind blows, the blossoms fall 3 
But a good God reigns over all." 



<rO '?H9' C-'0 - 



THE WATER TARANTELLA. 25 



THE WATER TARANTELLA. 

" The condition of those who were afflicted with Tarantism 
was in many cases united with so great a sensibility to music, 
that at the very first tone of their favourite melodies they 
sprang up shouting for joy, and danced on without intermission, 
until they sank on the ground exhausted, and almost lifeless. 
Some loved to hear the sound of water, and delighted in hearing 
of gushing springs, and rushing cascades and streams." — Hecker's 
Epidemics of the Middle Ages. The Dancing Mania. 

The wind blows low on the fields and hedges, 

There is a murmur amid the sedges, 

A low sweet sound where the water gushes 

Forth from the grass amid the rushes; 

It is a streamlet small and young, 

It loves to dally the mosses among, 

It trickles slowly, 

It whispers lowly, 

On its breast the thistle drops its down, 

The water-lily 

So white and stilly 

Sleeps in its lap till its leaves grow brown 

Dance, poor Eveleen, dance and dream, — 
Soft is the music, and fresh the stream. 



26 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

We will follow thee where it flows — 

It leaves the sedges dank behind, 

And on its fringe a willow shows 

Its silvery leaflets to the wind; 

And a brook conies down from far away, 

And babbles into it all the day; 

And both together creep through meads 

Where the shy plover hides and feeds, 

And then away through fields of corn, 

Or stretch of meadows newly shorn : 

Noiselessly they flow and clear 

By open wold and cover'd brake; 

But if you listen, you may hear 

The steady music which they make. 

Dance, poor Eveleen, dance, — we follow, 
O'er field, and copse, and wild-wood hollow. 

And now the stream begins to run 

Over the pebbles in its bed, 

To rumple its breast and glance in the sun, 

And curl to the light breeze overhead. 

No longer loitering, lingering, calm, 

It hurries away o'er the chafing shingle, 

Humming a song, singing a psalm, 

Through the orchard, down the dingle. 

Pools like mirrors adorn its breast, 

And there the trout and the minnow rest; 

The ringdove sings in her nest alone 

The tender song that love has taught her; 

And the redbreast sits on the boulder-stone, 

Washing his plumes in the wimpling water. 



THE WATER TARANTELLA. 27 



< 



Brisker now let the music sound; 
Dance, Eveleen, dance, — we follow thee ever, 
And tread the ground with a quick rebound, 
Away, away with the rolling river I 

Fed by its tributary rills 

From distant valleys with circling hills, 

And travelling seaward, merrily brawling, 

Wild, impassion'd, rapid, and strong, 

With voice of power to the green woods calling, 

The impetuous river dashes along, 

And is sweeping, leaping, through the meadows 

Almost as fast as the driving shadows 

Of clouds that fly before the wind, 

Down to the chasmy precipices, 

There to burst in foaming fall: — 

It bursts, it thunders, it roars, it hisses, 

An iris is its coronal; 

And the pendulous trees above it shiver, 

Bathed by the rain of that rampant river. 

So dance, fair Eveleen, faster, faster; 
Unloose thy zone, thy locks untwine; — 
Thy bosom, no more like the alabaster, 
Is flush? d, and heated, and red like ivine; 
Thy pulse is beating, thy blood is heating 
Thy lips are open, thine eyeballs shine. 

And now the river spends its wrath, 
The music sinks, the winds blow low; 
Its bosom broad is a nation's path — 
Smooth and pleasant is its flow. 



28 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

* 

A boat shoots by with its rowers trim, 
A ferryman plies his lazy oar; 
And miles adown, in the distance dim, 
There stands a city on the shore. 

By corn-fields yellow, by meadows green, 
And stately gardens, we advance; 
Still we follow thee, Eveleen — 
Gentle, gentler, be thy dance. 

Behold, xipon a grassy lawn, 

Sloped smoothly downwards to the brink, 

With large soft eyes, a dapple fewn 

Stoops to the lucid wave to drink; 

And, lo! an avenue of oak, 

Whose wrinkled stems, of giant girth, 

Have stood nnarm'd the winter's stroke 

For thrice a century, firm in earth, 

Their boughs o'ertopp'd by the turrets hoary 

Of a mansion old and famed in story. 

They pass, all pass, 

As in magic glass, 

And still we trace the placid stream— 

Castle and tower, 

And park and bower; 

Dance, poor Eveleen, dance and dream. 

A hundred ships are in the river, 

Their tall masts point to a clear blue sky, 

Their sails are furl'd, their pennants curl'd, 



THE WATER TARANTELLA. 29 

To the sweet west wind that wantons by; 

And every flag, emblazon'd fair, 

Flaps at its will on the sunny air. 

There is a peal of Sabbath bells, 

Over the river's breast it swells; 

The tall proud steeples look calmly down 

On the quiet houses of the town; 

'Tis a day of love, of rest, of peace — 

Eveleen, the song must cease. 

Gently, Eveleen, gently rest, 

Softly on thy pillow sleep; 

The fit is o'er, thy heaving breast 

Will calm itself in slumber deep; 

Thoitst danced, poor maid, the tarantelle, 

Thou'st danced it long and danced it well; 

Thou'st trod tlie maze, and traced the shore; 

Thou shalt be heaVd for evermore. 



30 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE EAKTH AND THE STAES. 

Said the Earth to the Stars — " Oh my sisters, 
Fellow-travellers through this dread immensity, 
Send a voice to my spirit and declare, 
If, serenely as ye smile on me, and fair, 

Ye are dwellings for all miseries, like me? 

" Oh tell me if in yon, my glorious sisters, 
Rules a tyrant like the one enthroned here? 
If Death has ever enter'd in your climes, 
And Suffering, and Calamity, and Crimes 

Ever rob you of the children that you rear ? 

" Oh tell me if in you, my myriad sisters, 
The weak are ever trampled by the strong ? 
If Malice, and Intolerance, and Hate, 
And "Warfare, and Ambition to be great, 

Ever cause the Right to suffer from the Wrong? 

"Oh tell me, silent sisters, are ye happy? 

Are the multitudes that live beneath your skies, 
Full of knowledge, unaccursed by such a ban 
As man has ever issued against man ? 

Are they happy, are they loving, are they wise?" 



THE EARTH AND THE STARS. 31 

Said the Stars to the Earth — "Oh mournful sister, 
Rolling calmly through the calm infinity, 

We have roll'd for countless ages on our track, 
Ever onward — pressing onward — never back; — 

There is progress both for us and for thee. 

"Thou wilt make, oh thou foolish little sister, 
The full cycle of thy glory in thy time ; 
We are rolling on in ours for evermore ; — 
Look not backward — see Eternity before, 

And free thyself of Sorrow and of Crime. 

" God, who made thee, never meant thee, mournful 
sister, 
To be fill'd with sin and grief eternally ; 

And the children that are born upon thy breast 
Shall, in fulness of their destiny, be blest : — 
There is Progress for the Stars and for Thee." 



— — ^3?3$$3^v^^— 



VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE YOUNG EARTH. 

"The earth give3 signs of age, disease, and fickleness. It 
yields its increase grudgingly, and demands an exorbitant fee 
beforehand, in toil and sweat from the husbandman. It has ill 
turns or paroxysms, when it rouses the ocean into a tempest, 
and makes sport of navies, strewing the shore with the wrecks 
and carcases of men. It rocks a continent or sinks an island ; 
shaking massive cities into countless fragments, and burying its 
wretched inhabitants in indiscriminate ruin ; anon it writhes 
and groans in mortal agony, and finds relief only by disgorging 
its fiery bowels, burying cities and villages in burning graves. 
The eaeth is old and feeble, and must needs groan on until 
it renews its prime." — Miseries and Liabilities of tlie present Life. 

Old Earth 1 Young Earth ! — though myriad years, 

Since Time's primeval morn, 
She may have bloom'd amid the spheres 

Before a man was born ! 



Still young; though race succeeding race 
Have trod her breast sublime, 

And flourish'd in their pride of place 
Their full allotted time, — 

Then pass'd away, like daily things, 

Nor left a trace behind 
To tell how many thousand Springs 

They lived before mankind. 



THE YOUNG EARTH. 33 

We, who for threescore years and ten 

Toil deathwards from our birth. 
Deem sixty centuries of men 

A ripe old age for Earth. 

But all our deeds, though back we look 

With yearning keen and fond, 
Fill but a page : the mighty book 

Lies infinite beyond 

She is not old, or waxing cold, 

But vigorous as of yore, 
When 'mid her kindred globes she roll'd, 

Exulting evermore. 



Six thousand years of human strife 

Are little in the sum ; 
A morning added to her life, 

And noonday yet to come. 

Six thousand years! what have they brought, 

0, poor ephemeral man 1 
Go, reckon centuries by thought, 

Thou'lt find them but a span. 

Go reckon time by progress made, 

And lo! what ages pass, 
Swift as the transitory shade 

Of clouds upon the grass. 

D 



34 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Six thousand years 1 and what are they ? 

A cycle scarce begun ; 
The fragment of a grander day 

Unmeasured by the sun ; 

Too short to purify the sight 

Of souls in Error blind; 
Too short to show the healing light 

Of Love to all mankind. 

Eor lo ! the lesson has been read 

In every clime and tongue ; 
The Sea has breathed it from her bed, 

And Earth and Air have sung; 

The Sun has beam'd it from above 

To all his worlds around; 
The stars have preach'd that God is Love 

But answer never found. 



The generations cold and dark 
Have lived and pass'd away, 

And never caught the faintest spark 
Of Love's eternal ray. 

The myriads, seeking to create 

An idol to adore, 
Have made their God a God of Hate, 

And worshipp'd him with gore. 



THE YOUNG EARTH. 35 

And living multitudes have heard 

That Love is Nature's plan, 
Yet shut their souls against the Word 

That teaches love to man. 

But there is progress in the spheres, 

The glorious Earth is young ; 
The seed has lain six thousand years, 

The tender shoots have sprung. 

She is not old but young and fair; 

And marching to her prime, 
Her teeming bosom yet shall bear 

The harvest of her time. 



And generations thought-endued — 

Each wiser than the last, 
Shall crowd, in one short year the good 

Of centuries of the past ; — 

Shall, living, aid by loving deeds 

The truths for which we pine, 
And, dying, sow the fruitful seeds 

Of impulse more divine. 

The struggle, long and sorely fought, 

Embitter'd as it spread, 
For simplest rights — free hand, free thought, 

And sustenance of bread : 
d 2 



36 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

The struggle of the righteous weak 
Against the unrighteous strong ; 

Of Justice firm, though mild and meek, 
Against oppressive Wrong — 

Draws in, and must be ended yet ; — 

It ripens to its hour : 
The mighty combatants have met ; 

And Truth has challenged Power. 

Young Earth ! — her sad six thousand years, 

Now passing swift away, 
Are but her infancy of tears— 

The dawn before the day. 



«^>c\9X(»>>o~ 







ii -N MADXERS, 



37 



THE GOLDEN MADNESS. 

By the road-side there sat an aged man, 

Who all day long, from dawn into the night, 

Counted with weary fingers heaps of stones. 

His red eyes dropp'd with rheum, his yellow hands 

Trembled with palsy, his pale sunken cheeks 

Were mark'd with deep and venerable seams, 

His flat bald brow was ever bent to earth, 

His few grey hairs waved to the passing winds, 

His straggling teeth, blacken'd and carious, 

Battled and tumbled from his bloodless gums; — 

I spake him kindly, saying, " Why this toil 

At task like this, cracking thy rotten bones, 

To gain nor health, nor recompense, nor thanks'?" 

He made no answer, but went counting on, 
Mumbling and muttering slowly to himself, 
Chinking the stones with melancholy sound, 
Piece after piece ; looking nor right nor left, 
Nor upwards, but aye down upon the heap. 

I asked again, "What is it that thou dost, 
Wasting the remnant of thy days in toil, 
Without fruition to thyself or kind, 
As earnestly as if these stones were gold, 
And all thine own to spend and to enjoy ?" 



38 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

He look'd upon me with a vacant eye, 
And stopp'd not in his task. " Gold! didst thou say? 
They are gold — precious, ready-coin'd and pure, 
And all mine own to spend and to enjoy, 
When I have counted them. So, get thee gone, 
Unless thou art a borrower or a thief." 
And aye he chink'd the flints and chips of slate, 
One after one, muttering their numbers o'er, 
At every hundred stopping for a while 
To rub his wither'd palms, and eye the heap 
With idiot happiness, ere he resumed. 

There came a stranger by the way. I ask'd 
If he knew aught of this forlorn old man. 
" Bight well," he said ; " the creature is insane, 
And hath been ever since he had a beard. 
He first went mad for greediness of gold." 

"Know you his story?" "Perfectly," said he. 
"Look how he counts his miserable flints 
And bits of slate. Twelve mortal hours each day 
He sits at work, summer and winter both ; 
'Mid storm or sunshine, heat or nipping frost, 
He counts and counts ; and since his limbs were 

young, 
Till now that he is crook'd and stiffen'd old, 
He hath not miss'd a day. The silly wretch 
Believes each, stone a lump of shining gold, 
And that he made a bargain with the fiend, 
That if he'd count one thousand million coins 
Of minted gold, audibly, one by one, 
The gold should be his own the very hour 



THE GOLDEN MADNESS. 39 

When he had told the thousand millionth piece ; 

Provided always, as such bargains go, 

The fiend should have his soul in recompense. 

"Unskilled in figures, but brimful of greed, 
He chuckled at his bargain, and began ; 
And for a year reckon'd with hopeful heart. 
At last a glimpse of light broke on his sense, 
And show'd the fool that millions — quickly said — 
Were not so quickly counted as he thought. 
But still he plies his melancholy task, 
Dreaming of boundless wealth and curbless power, 
And slavish worship from his fellow-men. 

"If he could reckon fifty thousand stones 
Daily, and miss no day in all the year, 
'Twould take him five-and-fiffcy years of life 
To reach the awful millions he desires. 
He has been fifty of these years or more 
Feeding his coward soul with this conceit, 
Exposed to every blast, starved, wretched, old, 
Toothless, and clothed with rags and squalidness, 
He eyes his fancied treasure with delight, 
And thinks to cheat the devil at the last. 

" Look at his drivelling lips, his bloodshot eyes, 
His trembling hands, his loose and yellow skin, 
His flimsy rottenness, and own with me 
That this man's madness, though a piteous thing, 
Deserves no pity, for the avarice 
So mean and filthy that was cause of it." 



40 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

I gazed once more upon his wrinkled face, 
Yacant with idiotcy, and went my way 
Fill'd with disgust and sorrow, for I deem'd 
That his great lunacy was but a type 
Of many a smaller madness as abject, 
That daily takes possession of men's hearts 
And blinds them to the uses of their life. 

Poor fool ! he gathers stones — they gather gold, 
With toil aod moil, thick sweat and grovelling 

thought. 
He has his flints, and they acquire their coin. 
And who's the wiser? Neither he nor they. 



*e5^e^9^- 



41 



THE OUT-COMER AND THE IN-GOER. 

For Ernest was a palace built, 

A palace beautiful to see ; 
Marble-porch'd and cedar-chamber'd, 

Hung with damask drapery; 
Boss'd with ornaments of silver, 

Interlaid with gems and gold ; 
Eill'd with carvings, from cathedrals 

Rescued in the days of old ; 
Eloquent with books and picturos, 

All that luxury could afford ; 
Warm with statues that Pygmalion 

Might have fashion'd and adored. 
In his forest glades and vistas 

Lovely were the light and gloom; 
Fountains sparkled in his gardens, 

And exotics breathed perfume. 

With him to that lordly palace 

Went the friend who loved him best. 
In good fortune unexalted, 

In misfortune undepress'd. 
Little reck'd that friend of grandeur; 

Dearer far to him than all 
Wealth could offer, were the rosebuds 

Growing on the garden wall. 



42 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Dearer far were simple pleasures, 

And the charms by Nature spread, 
Than all gauds of power and splendour 

Heap'd upon their favourite's head. 
Plain was he in speech and raiment. 

Humble-minded, and imbued 
With a daily love of virtue, 

And a daily gratitude. 



Ere these palace-halls received them, 

Steadfast was the faith they bore ; 
No estrangement came between them, 

Darkening their study-door. 
Ernest in his friend's communion 

Loved himself and all his kind, 
Cherishing a loving nature, 

Tutor'd by a happy mind ; 
Rich and poor were equal brothers 

In that heart, too pure to hold 
Pride of lineage or station, 

Or the vanity of gold. 
Never chanced it, in that season, 

That he form'd a thought unjust 
Of the meanest fellow-mortal, 

Fashion'd of a common dust. 



But his palace somewhat changed him; 

Rosebuds gather'd — early walks 
Sunset roamings — nightly musings — 

Mystic philosophic talks — 



THE OUT-COMER AND THE IN- GOER. 43 

Nothing as of old engross'd him ; 

And the promptings of his friend 
Fell upon his sated spirit, 

Not to guide him, but offend. 
Daily grew the chilling coolness, 

Till, ere many months had flown, 
Ernest shut his door upon him, 

And resolved to live alone : 
And retreating 'mid his splendour, 

Booted out all love he bore 
For that friend, so true, so noble, 

Banish' d, lost for evermore. 

Scarcely had his friend departed, 

Pain'd and pensive, but resign'd, 
"When another sought the palace 

More accordant to his mind. 
He in Ernest's lordly chambers 

Sat, and call'd him first of men; 
Praised his pictures and his statues, 

Flatter'd him with tongue and pen ; 
Press'd the milk of human kindness 

From his bosom cold and sere, 
Taught him to be harsh and cruel, 

Proud, disdainful, and austere ; 
Fill'd him up with vain inflation, 

And contempt for meaner clay, 
As if he were born to govern, 

It to flatter and obey. 

Sometimes on his lonely pillow, 

When his conscience show'd the truth, 



44 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

He deplored his blind estrangement 

From the comrade of his youth ; 
But the daylight chill'd the current 

Of that feeling, and it froze 
Hard enough to bear the burden 

Of such memories as those. 
And all day, in gloomy grandeur, 

In his corridors and halls, 
Looking at his old escutcheons, 

And the portraits on the walls, 
He and his companion wander' d, 

Calm of eye, with lips upcurl'd, 
Aliens to the worth and goodness, 

And the beauty of the world. 



Wintry winds of human anguish, 

Blowing round them day and night) 
Never moved them — never clouded 

Their serenity of light. 
They were made of choice material, 

Tempest-proof, from lightning free, 
And the world, its joys and sorrows, 

Was to them a shipless sea, 
Dark, unfathomable, trackless, 

Far beyond their care or ken, 
Save at times, when ostentation 

Brought them to the gaze of men. 
But ev'n this was painful to them — 

Man was cold, and earth was wide ; 
They preferr'd the warm seclusion 

Of their apathy and pride. 



THE OUT-COMER AND THE IN-GOER. %5 

Who was he, the first out-goer ? 

He was Human Sympathy ; 
And the in-comer, that displaced him ] 

He was "Worldly Vanity. 
With the first Religion vanish'd, 

Charity, and Faith in Man, 
And the genial Love of Nature, 

Boundless as Creation's plan. 
With the second enter'd Hatred 

Harsh Intolerance, and Scorn. 
Ernest, in his life's cold evening 

Saw the error of his morn — 
Saw his error and deplored it, 

And upon his death-bed lain, 
Pray'd for mercy, while confessing, 

Dying, he had lived in vain. 



46 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE DEOP OF AMBEOSIA. 

"Whither away? whither away, 

With thine eyes through the distance looking so 

keen? 
The road is narrow, and is not long, 
And if thou wouldst but awhile delay, 
I would show thee sights thou hast not seen * 
And thou shouldst hear a voice of song, 
And thou shouldst learn of things unknown, 
And live a double and fuller life. 
Whither away ? I prithee stay, — 
There are angels near ; thou'rt not alone — 
The very air is with beauty rife. 
The night is lovely, fair is the day, 
Why this hurry to travel away, 
To close thy journey, to shut thy book? 
Why at the end wilt thou ever look? 
Why on the tide wilt thou ever think, 
And neglect the flow'rets on the brink?" 

He said, in answer to my cries, 

" Let me alone, nor vex my soul ; 

I've set my mind on a glittering prize 

That I see midway towards the goal. 

It shines, 'mid cloud on the mountain-top, 

A bright, divine, ambrosial drop. 



THE DROP OF AMBROSIA. 47 

Sad, till I grasp it, the time appears; 

Into hours the weeks I'd pack, 

Compress the lingering, drawling years 

To months, and never wish them back. 

Why should I stay? What boots delay? 

What do I care for an angel's song? 

For the stars of night, or the flowers of day, 

When lingering would the hours prolong? 

Let me alone : my mind and heart 

Are full of a joy thou canst not see, 

And each impediment is pain; 

Thy very talk is grief to me. 

Let me away. Why should I stay, 

Wasting time by answering thee?" 



u Already," said I, " thy prime is past, 
Thy flush of youth, thy warmth of noon ; 
And many delights which the sunshine cast 
Must wither away beneath the moon. 
The path thou goest is short at best ; 
And between thine eyes and the bliss they crave, 
To trip thy feet in their course so fleet, 
May there not be an open grave ? 
Why wilt thou hurry towards the end ? 
There are pleasant fields on the highway-side, 
Bowers whence the hymns of Love ascend, 
And rivers rolling a joyous tide, 
In which to lave the weary limbs 
Is bliss beyond the ambrosial drop 
Which, far away, 'mid storm and dark, 
Thou seest upon the mountain -top. 



48 VOICES FEOM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Straight is the path to the yawning tomb ; 

But we may linger on the road, 

And turn to the left, and turn to the right, 

To enjoy the kindly gifts of God. 

I would not live 'my life so soon ; 

I would not spend it on one desire ; 

ISIor in such fearful haste as thine 

Exhaust the fuel of its fire." 

Yain was my speech : he closed his ears — 

Straight on he rush'd, nor look'd behind. 

He saw afar his glittering star, 

The prize for which his spirit pined. 

On every side were stars as fair — 

Fairer I thought ; and drops of joy, 

Divinest given to mortal man, 

To cheer of his life the little span, 

And sanctify its right employ. 

He saw them not, but ran his race 

With a speed that passion alone could give ; 

Grew hard and grey on his narrow way, 

And spent his life ere he learn'd to live. 

And I saw before he reach'd his prize, 

That he sunk in the grave before my eyes. 



49 



NOW. 

The venerable Past is past ; 

Tis dark, and shines not in the ray : 
'Twas good, no doubt — 'tis gone at last — 

There dawns another day. 
Why should we sit where ivies creep, 
And shroud ourselves in charnels deep ; 
Or the world's Yesterdays deplore, 
'Mid crumbling ruins, mossy hoar 1 
Why should we see with dead men's eyes, 

Looking at Was from morn to night, 
When the beauteous Now, the divine To Be, 

Woo with their charms our living sight ? 
Why should we hear but echoes dull, 
When the world of sound, so beautiful, 

Will give us music of our own? 
Why in the darkness will we grope, 
When the sun, in heaven's resplendent cope 

Shines as bright as ever it shone ? 



Abraham saw no brighter stars 

Than those which burn for thee and me. 
When Homer heard the lark's sweet song, 

Or night-bird's lovelier melody, 
They were such sounds, as Shakspeare heard, 
Or Chaucer, when he bless'd the bird ; 



50 VOICES FKOM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Such lovely sounds as we can hear ; — 

Great Plato saw the vernal year 

Send forth its tender flowers and shoots, 

And luscious autumn pour its fruits ; 

And we can see the lilies blow, 

The corn-fields wave, the rivers flow : 

For us all bounties of the earth, 

For us its wisdom, love, and mirth, 

If we daily walk in the sight of God, 

And prize the gifts He has bestow'd. 



We will not dwell amid the graves, 

Nor in dim twilights sit alone, 
To gaze at moulder'd architraves, 

Or plinths and columns overthrown ; 
We will not only see the light 

Through painted windows, cobwebb'd o'er, 
Nor know the beauty of the night, 

Save by the moonbeam on the floor : 
But in the presence of the sun, 

Or moon, or stars, our hearts shall glow ; 
We'll look at nature face to face, 

And we shall love because we know. 
The present needs us. Every age 
Bequeaths the next, for heritage, 
No lazy luxury or delight, 
But strenuous labour for the right ; 
For Now, the child and sire of Time, 

Demands the deeds of earnest men, 
To make it better than the Past, 

And stretch the circle of its ken. 



NOW. 51 

Now is a fact that men deplore, 
Though it might bless them evermore, 
Would they but fashion it aright : 
'Tis ever new, 'tis ever bright. 

Time nor Eternity hath seen 
A repetition of delight 

In all its phases : ne'er hath been 
For men or angels that which is; 

And that which is, hath ceased to be 
Ere we have breathed it, and its place 

Is lost in the Eternity. 
But Now is ever good and fair, 
Of the Infinitude the heir, 
And we of it. So let us live, 
That from the Past we may receive 
Light for the Now ; from Now a joy 
That Fate nor Time shall e'er destroy. 



^>oQ2£5XS 



52 VOTCES FKOM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE VISION OF MOCKERY. 

All happy things are earnest. Once I roam'd 
In England, or in Dream-land, through the streets 
Of a huge, buzzing, dense metropolis. 
Slowly, in teeming thoroughfares, I walk'd, 
One of the people, hearing with their ears, 
Beholding with their eyes, and in their thought 
Divining, till my soul was fill'd with grief 
At all that I beheld, and felt, and knew. 

It was a gibing, laughing, sneering crowd, 
Devoid of truth, faith, love, and earnestness, 
Except a horrid earnestness for gain ; 
Fierce love of lucre, which if one had not, 
He was despised and trodden down of men : 
Which if one had, he was adored of all, 
Placed on a pinnacle to be admired, 
Flatter'd, and fill'd with other rich men's gifts ; 
His overflowing fulness made more lull, 
His vulgarness thought choice gentility. 
His vices virtues, and his prejudice 
Wisdom innate, his coarse words oracles, 
And he a chief and model of mankind. 

But for all else than wealth these swarming crowds 
Had slight regard; and when their daily toil 



THE VISION OP MOCKERY 53 

Cn search of it was done, and time hung loose, 
They gather' d in their clubs and theatres, 
[n market-place, or corner of the streets, 
And mock'd and gibed — and held the best buffoon 
The wisest man, so he but made them laugh. 
Nothing was holy to these wretched crowds, 
But all things food for jest and ribald wit, 
Caricature, lampoon, and mockery. 

I said to one, " Is this the end of life ? 
Is there no reverence for God or man?" 
He turn'd and look'd, and, with a well-bred stare, 
Eyed me askance: "What would you have ?" quoth 

he ; 
"We keep our reverence for sabbath-days, 
And look demure the seventh part of our time ; 
If for six days we toil, six nights we laugh, 
And who shall blame us 1 What new bore art thou, 
From lands hyperborean, that canst think 
Laughter a crime ?" — " Nay," I replied, " not so ; 
Laughter is virtuous, if there be a cause : 
But mockery !" — Thereat he smiled again, 
Arching his eyebrows, that his eyes, full-stretch'd, 
Might take the measure of my littleness, 
And disappeard amid the gathering throng. 

I spake no more, but wander'd wearily on, 
Until I reach' d a wide and crowded mart, 
Where one, a mild and venerable man, 
Address'd the multitude with slow, clear voice. 
Few gave him audience, but he heeded not, 
And spoke his thought, unmindful of the jeers 



54 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Of would-be wits and shallow mountebanks, 
{Scoffers and punsters, and obese dull clowns. 

"Vain and unhappy multitudes," he said, 
" That gibe and sneer at every holy thing ; — 
Is this your law of life 1 Is this the end 1 
Lo ! ye have souls immortal and sublime, 
To be made infinite in love and light, 
And heavenly knowledge, if ye will but ope 
The inner fountains and the inner eyes, 
And see the deep and full significance, 
The worth and wherefore of the life of man. 

" Is it not sad, O myriad, myriad souls, 
Infinite and immortal as ye are, 
That ye will make your own infinity 
A retrogression ? Immortality, 
Change of vile vesture for a viler still ? 
That ye will circle with the feculent clay 
Your life-light heavenly clear, until it burn 
No fairer, to the outward world, than foul, 
Thick exhalations of a stagnant fen ? 
Is it not sad, that germs which should expand 
Even here, to trees of bole magnificent, 
Should rot and perish in unsavoury mire ; 
Or, ere they rot, be eaten up by swine, — 
Swine of ill passion, selfishness, and lust ? 
Is it not sad — a thing for bitter tears — 
Unless for hope, and efforts made more strong 
By seeming hopelessness — that men should live 
And never know the meaning of their life ? 
That they should die, and never know that death 



THE VISION OF MOCKERY. 

Is change, not ceasing 1 and that life and death 
Are ebb and flow of an eternal tide, 
In which the ripple may become a wave, 
The wave a sea, the sea a universe? 

" Alas ! poor crowds, self-quench'd, self-sacrificed, 
Why will ye crawl, when ye might walk erect? 
"Why will ye grovel, when ye might aspire 1 
Why will ye don foul rags, when ye might wear 
Angelic vestments 1 Why co-herd with beasts, 
And graze in fields, or wallow in the mire, 
When ye might feed on manna dropp'd from heaven 1 ?" 

Thereat a listener in the crowd exclaimed — 
One with a portly paunch, and large round face, 
And little twinkling eyes, — " You waste your words : 
Why do you preach to us of things like these, 
Things transcendental and absurdly wise 1 
The earth is man's ; man is the earth's. Forget 
These idle dreams, and eat, and drink, and laugh, 
And speculate, and hoard a heap of gold ; 
And so be one of us, that as you live, 
You may enjoy ; and when you die, die well, 
Leaving plump money-bags to bless your sons." 
And all the people laugh'd, and cried, "Hear ! hear !" 
With loud applause, and shouts vociferous. 
But still the orator undaunted stood, 
Though laughter sputter'd round him. ; and vain scofi% 
Like muddy showerlets, fell on every side ; 
And more he would have said, but that a cry 
Of one in haste, and in great stress of speech, 
Made interruption : " Lo ! the children die ! — 



56 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

The little children, and you heed them not ! 
The children die : they perish, body and soul, 
In pestilent lanes, and rotting alleys vile ; 
Thousands on thousands, more than eyes can count. 
God's sun shines on them, but they never heard 
His name who made it : the fair world they tread 
Is foul to them, that never saw the fields, 
The green trees, the great mountains, the bright 

streams, 
Or knew that God, who fashion'd all things, loves 
All he has made, and children most of all, 
The purest from his hand. Why should they die ? 
For life in ignorance is very death. 
Some of them toil, and waste their tender limbs 
In mills, or mines, from morn till past the night : 
Machines of flesh, too sorely overwrought 
To reach maturity ere they grow old. 
Some of them toil not, but by night and day 
Prowl in the fetid ways, and lie, and steal, 
And curse, and never know that words can bless, 
Or that such thing as blessing in this world 
Was ever heard of : — Save, oh ! save them all ! 
If not for their sakes, for our own ! Not one 
Of all these myriads, were we truly wise, 
Should perish thus. For, though they live in shame, 
And fill the world with crimes and miseries, 
Great is their sorrow, but the guilt is ours." 

He ceased, and through the crowd a murmur ran, 
As though his words had moved them to remorse, 
Or pity, but it died away ; and one 
Speaking for many, as if he alone 



THE VISION OF MOCKERY. Oi 

"Were mouth-piece and interpreter of men, 

Exclaim'd in pompous wise, " Why should we heed 1 

Why interfere % It is a perilous thing 

To step between a parent and his child. 

Each for himself ; each father for his own ; 

No good can come of such philosophy. 

It weisrhs all things in theoretic scales, 

And meddles but to mar. The world is good ; 

Let it alone ; 'twill educate itself." 

He ceased, and look'd about him with a smile, 
That said, as plainly as a smile can say, 
How smart he was, how practically wise. 
Whereat another, taking up the chant, 
Said, " Bah ! it irks my patience evermore, 
To hear such vulgar flattery of the crowd ; 
Were they not born to drudge, to groau, to sweat 1 
Is't not so written in the Book % If so, 
Why give them knowledge they can never use? 
A little of it is a poisonous thing, 
And much is utterly beyond their reach j — 
So, prithee, Master Quack, let well alone. 
If thou canst sing for our amusement, sing; 
Or dance, then dance ; or jest, then jest away ; 
Stand on thy head, cut capers in the air, 
Or anything thou wilt but preach of this." 

Thereat the crowd laugh'd as with one accord ; 
And when the earnest man again essay' d 
To speak his truth, they raised derisive shouts 
That stifled all his words upon his lips, 
And fill'd his heart and mine with pity and grief. 



58 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

"What more was said I know not, nor how long 
I stood amongst them ; but a sudden cry. 
And rushing of the people to one place, 
Aroused me from my lethargy, and, lo ! 
I heard a voice potential with the crowd, 
Coarse and stentorian, breaking on my ear. 
"Behold," it said, "behold the game of games, 
The chance of chances — better than all trade, 
Commerce, or industry pursued by man. 
Who plays it well, grows wealthy in a day ; 
Who plays it ill may gain more great reward 
Than Labour, with his utmost pith and stress, 
Could sweat for in a life." And as he spake, 
Loose scraps of paper fluttered in his hands. 
There seem'd deep fascination in the sight, 
For every eye beseech'd, and every tongue 
Implored him for them. From his vulgar clutch 
They dropp'd like flakes of snow innumerous. 
And then the scramble and the crush began ; 
Old men and young, the famish'd and the full, 
The rich and poor, widow, and wife, and maid, 
Master and servant, all with one intent, 
Rush'd on the paper; from their eager eyes 
Flashing a fierce unconquerable greed, 
Their hot palms itching, all their being fill'd 
With one desire ; so that amid the press, 
If some were crush'd and smitten to the ground, 
They heeded not, but trod on fallen heads 
As unconcernedly as racing steeds 
Trample the sward. And still the paper flakes 
Fell fast around ; and still the crowd rush'd on, 
Roaring and wild, its myriad hands held up 



THE VISION OF MOCKERY. 59 

To grasp the glittering prizes ere they fell. 

Then came a pause. A fearful mockery 

Began to spread. Each call'd his fellow — fool ! 

And every fool acknowledged — so he was, 

But thought his neighbour greater fool than he. 

And there was laughter loud, and stifled groans, 

And shouts obstreperous, till, all at once, 

They dropp'd the scraps of paper from their hands, 

As if a leprosy were in the touch ; 

And in their haste, o'er-eager to depart 

From that gross presence, trod each other down. 

As in a burning theatre, a crowd 

Bushing by hundreds to one narrow door, 

Meet certain death to flee uncertain fire, 

So they in panic at the lust of gain, 

That each man saw in others, not in self, 

Fled in confusion, breathless and distraught, 

Nor cared who died, if they themselves escaped. 

I stood amazed, and blush'd for human-kind, 
When on my ears a strain of music broke, 
Melting in soft harmonious cadences. 
I look'd, and, on a platform raised on high, 
Beheld a lady beauteous as the dawn, 
Dancing in robes of white and azure gauze ; 
Her breast was bare ; her limbs, nor bare nor hid, 
But full defined through her transparent robes, 
"Fill'd the beholders with voluptuous thoughts. 
She seem'd to float upon the buoyant air, 
To be a creature of an element 
More spiritual than earth ; and when she smiled 
Thero was such witchery in her painted cheeks, 



60 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

That all the crowd, entranced with great delight, 

And quite forgetful of their past distress, 

Shouted with loud acclaim, and clapp'd their hands. 

And when she twirl'd upon her pliant toe, 

One fair limb vertical, the other raised 

To horizontal straightness, such a burst 

Of irrepressible, overpowering joy, 

Fill'd all the air, it seem'd as men were mad, 

And dancing were supremest bliss of earth ; — 

The fairest dancer, first of woman-kind. 

Then, as she curtsied with a winning look 

To her idolaters, a shower of wreaths, 

Garlands, and evergreens, and laurel crowns, 

Fell all around her, and another burst 

Of universal gladness rang around; 

And she, descending from her platform, slid 

Graceful into her chariot, and the crowd 

Fill'd with new frenzy at her loveliness, 

Unyoked her prancing jennets, dapple-grey, 

And drew her forth triumphant to her home. 

Still more amazed, I left this fearful crowd, 
And wander'd out amid the quiet woods 
To hold communion with my secret soul, 
And note, in Memory's many-storied book, 
What I had seen and heard — that pondering well 
Its true significance, I might extract 
Good from the ill, and from the darkness light. 



v v • 



2U 

&>-~-i^ 










&* 
» 




** ^ 



THE KINr. INI) THE MG IITING \ I.tS. 



61 



THE KING AND THE NIGHTINGALES. 

A LEGEND OF HAVEKING. 

[Havering-atte-Bower, in Essex, was the favourite retirement 
of King Edward the Confessor, who so delighted in its solitary 
woods, that he shut himself up in them for weeks at a time. 
Old legends say that he met with but one annoyance in that 
pleasant seclusion — the continual warbling of the nightingales, 
pouring such floods of music upon his ear during his midnight 
meditations, as to disturb his devotions. He therefore prayed 
that never more within the bounds of that forest might nightin- 
gale's song be heard. His prayer, adds the legend, was granted. 
The following versification of the story shows a different result 
to his prayers — a result which, if it contradict tradition, does 
not, it is presumed, contradict poetical justice.] 

King Edward dwelt at Havering-atte-Bower — 
Old and enfeebled by the weight of power — 
Sick of the troublous majesty of kings — 
Weary of duty and all mortal things — 
Weary of day — weary of night — forlorn — 
Cursing, like Job, the hour that he was born. 
Thick woods environ'd him, and in their shade 
He roam'd all day, and told his beads, and pray'd. 
Men's faces pain'd him, and he barr'd his door 
That none might find him ; — even the sunshine bore 
No warmth or comfort to his wretched sight ; 
And darkness pleased no better than the light. 



62 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

He scorn'd himself for eating food like men, 

And lived on roots and water from the fen ; 

And aye he groan 'd, and bow'd his hoary head — 

Did penance, and put nettles in his bed — 

Wore sackcloth on his loins, and smote his breast — 

Told all his follies — all his sins confess 1 d — 

Made accusations of himself to heaven, 

And own'd to crimes too great to be forgiven, 

Which he had thought, although he had not done — 

Blackening his blackness ; numbering one by one 

Unheard of villanies without a name, 

As if he gloried in inventing shame, 

Or thought to win the grace of heaven by lies, 

And gain a saint ship in a fiend's disguise. 

Long in these woods he dwelt — a wretched man, 
Shut from all fellowship, self-placed in ban — 
Laden with ceaseless prayer and boastful vows, 
Which day and night he breathed beneath the boughs. 
But sore distress'd he was, and wretched quite, 
For every evening with the waning light 
A choir of nightingales, the brakes among, 
Deluged the woods with overflow of song. 
" Unholy birds," he said, " your throats be riven ! 
You mar my prayers, you take my thoughts from 

heaven ! " 
But still the song, magnificent and loud, 
Pour'd from the trees like rain from thunder-cloud ; 
Now to his vex'd and melancholy ear 
Sounding like bridal music, pealing clear ; 
Anon it deepen'd on his throbbing brain 
To full triumphal march or battle-strain ; 



THE KING AND THE NIGHTINGALES. 63 

Tlien seem'd to vary to a choral hymn, 

Or De Profundis from cathedral dim, 

" Te Deum" or " Hosanna to the Lord," 

Chanted by deep-voiced priests in full accord. 

He shut his ears, he stamp'd upon the sod — 

" Be ye accursed, ye take my thoughts from God ! 

And thou, beloved saint to whom I bend, 

Lamp of my life, my guardian, and my friend, 

Make intercession for me, sweet St. John ! 

And hear the anguish of thy suffering son ! 

May nevermore within these woods be heard 

The song of morning or of evening bird ! 

May nevermore their harmonies awake 

Within the precincts of this lonely brake, 

For I am weary, old, and full of woe, 

And their songs vex me ! This one boon bestow, 

That I may pray, and give my thoughts to thee. 

Without distraction of their melody ; 

And that within these bowers my groans and sighs 

And ceaseless prayers be all the sound that rise. 

Let God alone possess me, last and first ; 

And, for His sake, be all these birds accursed !" 



This having said, he started where he stood, 
And saw a stranger walking in the wood ; 
A purple glory, pale as amethyst, 
Clad him all o'er. He knew th' Evangelist ; 
And, kneeling on the earth with reverence meet, 
He kiss'd his garment's hem, and clasp'd his feet. 
"Rise," said the saint, "and know, unhappy king, 
That true Religion hates no living thing; 



64 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

It loves the sunlight, loves the face of man, 
And takes all virtuous pleasure that it can — 
Shares in each harmless joy that Nature gives, 
Bestows its sympathy on all that lives, 
Sings with the bird, rejoices with the bee, 
And, wise as manhood, sports with infancy. 
Let not the nightingales disturb thy prayers, 
But make thy thanksgiving as pure as theirs ; 
So shall it mount on wings of love to heaven, 
And thou, forgiving, be thyself forgiven." 

The calm voice ceased ; — King Edward dared not 
look, 
But bent to earth, and blush'd at the rebuke ! 
And though he closed his eyes and hid his face, 
He knew the saint had vanish'd from the place. 
And when he rose, ever the wild woods rang 
With the sweet song the birds of evening sang. 
No more he cursed them ; loitering on his way 
He listen'd, pleased, and bless'd them for their lay, 
And on the morrow quitted Havering 
To mix with men and be again a king, 
And fasting, moaning, scorning, praying less, 
Increased in virtue and in happiness. 



65 



EVERMORE— NEVERMORE. 

"Wilt thou run to me for ever?" 

Said the ocean to the river. 

"Will ye ever fall on my hills and plains?" 

Said the dry land to the rains. 

"Will ye ever blossom while I sing?" 

Said the lark to the flowers of spring. 

" Will ye ever ripen while I shine ? " 

Said the sun to the corn and vine. 

And ever the answer the breezes bore 

Was, "Evermore — -for evermore." 

"As long as all these things shall be," 

Said I, to Rosa kissing me, 

" Shall Truth be sharper than a sword ? 

Shall kindness be its own reward ? 

Shall a free heart smoothe the roughest way ? 

Shall Hope shed light on the darkest day ? 

Shall tempests spare the reeds that bow, 

And thou love me as thou lovest now?" 

And ever the answer her sweet lips bore 

Was, "Evermore — -for evermore." 

" But shall I ever come back from thee ? " 
Said the river to the sea; 
"Or I?" said the flower that Rosa threw 
Into its waters bright and blue. 

F 



66 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

"Will ye bloom again on the summer eves'?" 

Said the tree to its wither' d leaves. 

"Wilt thou fall again when the north winds blow 1 ?" 

Said the grass to the melting snow. 

And ever the answer the breezes bore 

Was, "Nevermore — oh, nevermore.' 1 

"If such the rule beneath the skies," 

Said Rosa, gazing in my eyes, 

"Shall duty quit the debt we owe her, 

Or blisses fail the bliss-bestower 1 

Shall a miser's heart be improved by his gold 'i 

Shall the wealth of Love be ever told? 

Or thou prove false to the tender vow 

Thou swearest and repeatest now?" 

And ever the answer my true lips bore 

Was, "Nevermore — oh nevermore? 



67 



THE TRUE COMPANION. 

Give me the man, however old and staid, 

Or worn with sorrow and perplexity, 
Who, when he walks in sunshine or in shade, 

By woodland bowers, or bare beach of the sea, 

O'er hill-top, or in valleys green, with me, 
Throws off his age and gambols like a child, 
And finds a boyish pleasure in the wild, 

Rejuvenescent on the flowery lea ! 
Him shall the year press lightly as he goes; 

The kindly wisdom gather'd in the fields 
Shall be his antidote to worldly woes ; 

And the o'erflowing joy that nature yields 
To her true lovers shall his heart inclose, 

And blunt the shafts of care like iron shields. 



P2 



6S VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



WELCOME BACK. 

Sweet songs of nightingale and lark 

That greet the golden dawn, 
Or twilight deepening into dark, 

By mountain, grove, or lawn; 
Long days, clear nights, and balmy winds, 

Fresh flowers and forest leaves, 
Birds, blossoms, fruit of ruddy rinds, 

New hay, and barley sheaves ; 
All joys of nature, sounds or sights 

Of forest, stream, or plain, 
Ye're welcome, welcome, welcome ever, 

And welcome back again. 

Fair hopes, forgotten 'mid our toils, 

Sweet visions dream'd of yore, 
Calm thoughts effaced in life's turmoils, 

Old songs we've sung before ; 
Forgotten comrades, friends estranged, 

Acquaintance o'er the seas, 
Old feelings weaken'd, lost, or changed, 

And youthful memories ; 
Pure joys of home, kind words, sweet smiles, 

And sympathy in pain, 
Ye're welcome, welcome, welcome ever, 

And welcome back again. 



WELCOME BACK. 69 

For Heaven is kind, and makes no stint 

Of blessings, though we die ; 
They pass in circles, and imprint 

Their footsteps as they fly. 
'Tis ours to train them when begun, 

To keep the circle true, 
And not neglect, forget, or shun 

The old ones for the new. 
Ne'er to the hearts that prize them well 

They hold their course in vain : 
They're welcome, welcome, welcome ever 

And welcome back again. 




70 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



A LOVEK'S FANCIES. 

" What sownds like pewter V said my Rose in play — 

"The fall of earth upon a coffin-lid." 
"Like tin?" — "The cock-crow heralding the day, 

Or infant wailing that its mother chid." 
"Like steel ?" — "The quick sharp twitter on the spray 

Of numerous sparrows in the foliage hid." 
"Like gold ? " — " The strong wind over forests borne, 

Or full bass singer chanting prayer and creed." 
"Like brass?" — "The neighing of a frighten'd steed, 

Or roar of people clamouring for corn." 
"Like iron?" — "Thunder-claps suddenly woken, 

Startling the city in the summer night." 
"Like silver ?" — "Thy sweet voice that speaks delight, 

And breathes Love's promise, never to be broken." 



71 



THE NINE BATHERS. 

" I would like to bathe in milk," 

Said little Agnes, fresh and fair, 

"With her taper fingers smooth as silk, 

Her cherry cheeks and nut-brown hair — 

"In a bath of ivory, fill'd to the brim, 

I would love to lie and swim, 

And float like a strawberry pluck' d at dawn, 

In the lily-white waves of milk new-drawn." 

"And I," said Rose, with her eyes divine, 
"Would love to bathe in the ruddy wine, 
Trailing my long and coal-black locks 
In purple clarets and amber hocks; 
And I would have a fountain play 
So that the wine might fall in spray, 
And I might stand in the sparkling rain, 
Statue-like in perfect rest; — 
And if the droplets left a stain, 
I'd have a fountain of champagne 
To wash the purple from my breast ; 
And troops of slaves, in rich attire, 
Should scatter myrrh and incense sweet, 
And bring me, should my looks desire, 
A golden ewer to wash my feet. 



72 YOICES FROM THE MOW5T&IX8. 

I'd tread on carpets of velvet woof, 

My mirrors should reach from floor to roof, 

And every slave should envy me 

My loveliness and luxury.'* 

"And I, w said Jane, with her eyes' dark glances 

Radiant with untold romances, 

"Would choose a milder bath than thine, 

Nor crumple my curls with fiery wine. 

In a bath of alabaster bright, 

In a marble-floor' d and lofty hail, 

Transplendent with the regal light 

Of a thousand lamps from roof and wall, 

Amid exotics rich and rare 

Filling with odours all the air, 

In clear rose-water 1 would lie, 

Like a lily on a. lake serene, 

Or move my limbs to the harmony 

Of an orchestra unseen, 

Placed in a chamber far remote, 

And floating sing, and singing float." 

"Sweet bath!" said the calm fair Margaret; 

"But the bath I'd choose is sweeter yet. 

I'd have it in a rich saloon 

Open to the breeze of noon, 

With marble columns smooth and high, 

And crimson damask drapery, 

Fill'd with statues chaste and rare 

Of nymphs and gods divinely fair. 

Of jet-black marble the bath should be, 

With no white speck on its purity; 



THE NINE BATHEES. 73 

It should not flow with milk or wine, 
"With scented waters or with brine; 
It should be fill'd with meadow dew, 
Gather'd at morning in the grass, 
'Mid harebell -cups and violets blue, 
And my bath should be my looking-glass ; 
And I would have a score of maids 
Glowing with beauty, each and all, 
To twist my locks in graceful braids, 
And dress me for a festival." 

"And I," said Lilias, raising her eyes 

Clear as morn, of passion full, 

"Would love to bathe under Eastern skies, 

In the palace gardens of Istamboul, 

In the hanging groves of Babylon, 

Or Bagdad, city of the sun, 

'Mid orange, date, and trailing vine, 

Palm, and myrtle, and eglantine; 

I would have fifty fountains fair, 

'Mid bowers of roses and evergreens, 

And bathing in the odorous air, 

I would be waited on by queens." 

"And I," said Ann, with her drooping tresses, 

And eyes as full of love's caresses 

As the morning is of day, 

And mouth so ripe and kindly smiling 

'Twas never made to answer "Nay," 

"I would bathe in the fresh blue sea 

W^ith the wild waves sporting over me ; 

I would toy with the harmless foam, 



b* 



74 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Passing my fingers like a comb 
Through the crest of each wave that rear'd 
Its spray, as white as Neptune's beard ; — 
With a fresh wind blowing across the reach, 
I would dive and float again and again, 
And dress myself on the bare sea-beach, 
In a nook invisible to men." 

"And I," said Laura, "would choose my bath 

Where a river took its lonely path 

On round smooth shingle, clear in its flow, 

Showing the pebbles that slept below, 

Through a flowery lawn well shaven and soft, 

And cool to the feet. I would not care 

For bands of music, if larks aloft 

Fill'd with their songs the sunny air; 

I would not ask for lustres bright, 

If the clear morning shed its light ; 

Nor for marble statue of youth and maid, 

If oaks and poplars lent their shade ; 

Nor for exotics of choice perfume, 

If the Meadow-sweet were fresh in bloom ; 

I would but ask for a summer day, 

And nearest eyes ten miles away." 

"And I," said tuneful Isabel, 
With her soft blue eyes and cheek vermeil, 
With her witching smile and modest blush, 
And voice to make the blackbird hush, 
"I would not bathe by the sea-beach cold, 
Nor river running through open wold; 
I would not bathe in halls of state, 



THE NINE BATHEKS. 75 

In wine, or milk, or honey-dew ; 

On me should no serving maidens wait, 

Nor luxury my senses woo. 

I would bathe far up in a Highland burn, 

Hidden from sight in its every turn, 

Deep embower'd 'mid pendent larch, 

And silver birches poised on high, 

"With nothing alive to cross my path 

But the bright incurious butterfly; 

In a limpid basin of the rocks 

I would unbind my flaxen locks, 

And lay my clothes on the mossy stone, 

Happy — happy — and all alone." 

"And I," said Geraldine, smoothing back, 

From her stately brow, her tresses black, 

A blush, like morning over the isles, 

Dawning upon her cheeks, and smiles 

Flashing about her lips and eyes, 

Full of meanings and mysteries, 

"I would love to bathe in a quiet mere^ 

As a mirror smooth, as a dewdrop clear, 

So still, that my floating limbs should make 

The only ripples upon the lake ; 

I'd have it fringed with fruits and flowers^ 

Forests and orchards, groves and bowers, 

That whenever I bathed in the noons of spring 

I might pluck laburnums blossoming, 

Or shake, as I floated, the lilac blooms, 

Or chestnut-cones with their rich perfumes, 

Over my glancing neck and shoulders, 

Oonceal'd in the leaves from all beholders* 



Vo 



VOICES FROIT THE MOUNTAINS. 



Except from the ringdove — too intent 

On her own pleasures to look at mine ; 

And if I bathed when the flowers were spent, 

And peaches blush'd in the autumn shine, 

I would choose a solitary nook 

By the confluence of a brook, 

Where the apples were ripe, and the jet-black 

cherries, 
And the juicy luscious dark mulberries, 
Or jargonelles of a ruddy gold, 
And nectarines as sweet to taste 
As the kisses of urchins three years old, 
Grew within reach, that stretching in haste 
My hand to the boughs as I floated near, 
Or stood knee-deep in the lucid mere, 
I might rustle and shake the pulpy treasure 
Into the water for my pleasure, 
Catching an apple as it fell, 
Or diving for a jargonelle." 



77 



TWO MYSTEEIES. 

Two awful mysteries encompass me around, 

And follow me for ever as I go ; 

I see, yet see them not,- — I know they are, 

And that they change more rapidly than thought, 

Yet feel 5 mid variability, that change, 

While it affects them, leaves them still the same. 

Sane, I enjoy them both — both are myself; 

Insane, I fly them, but they haunt me still; — 

Two mysteries and yet one — one infinite, 

Two undistinguish'd points in space and time, 

Ever effaced and ever permanent ; — 

Two little atoms so magnificent 

That all the past conspired to give them birth, 

And all the mighty future hangs on one ; — 

My Self, my Now,— God's Self, God's Now ; so link'd 

That not Eternity can disentwine 

One from the other. Both to be employ'd 

So that their circle evermore shall stretch 

Till suns, and systems, and whole firmaments 

Shall seem but points commensurate with them, 

And aye to widen ever and evermore, 

Nearing the throne where the Eternal sits, 

Is joy, love, knowledge, happiness divine — 

Oh that the secret of their use were mine ! 



78 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUEKUS. 

I was betray'd, and cruelly undone, 
Smitten to anguish in my sorest part, 
And so disgusted with all human life, 
That curses came spontaneous to my lips ; 
I cursed the day — I cursed my fellow-men ; 
I cursed my God that made so bad a world. 
Goaded to frenzy by excess of pain, 
I tore my hair, — I dash'd my bleeding head 
Against a wall ; sobb'd, wept, and gnash'd my teeth. 
I howl'd anathemas against myself 
For being man, and living on the earth. 
When suddenly a sweet and heavenly calm 
Fell on my spirit ; and a mild clear light 
Diffused itself about me where I stood ; 
And I was conscious of a visible power 
Unutterably great, divinely good ; 
And a voice spake, not angrily, but sad : 
" Weak and unjust I thou hast blasphemed thy God; 
God, whom thou knowest not Thou hast maligned 
Thy fdlow-men. Live, till thou knowest both/" 
The awful glory stole away my sense, 
Th' excess of splendour dazzled my dim eyes ; 
The clear words made me dumb ; and for a while 
Torpid and clod-like on the earth I lay, 
Till th' ineffable brightness disappear' d. 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUERUS. 79 

And when I waken'd, life was misery; 
Burden too mighty for my flesh to bear. 
" Live till I know my God ! That might I well ; 
But live in sorrow till I know mankind? 
Heavy the curse ! But if it must be borne, 
Let me gain knowledge quickly, and so die !" 
Long did I live. One hundred years of time 
I held the faith that all my people held; 
Observed their laws, and to a God of Fear 
Knelt down in awe and worshipp'd His derad name. 
But still I lived, and cursed the weary days ; 
And had no love or reverence for my kind. 
And still my pain grew with my discontent, 
That I could not release myself and die. 

Youth in my limbs, but age upon my heart, 
I roam'd the earth. I dwelt among the Greeks ; 
I saw, well pleased, the majesty of life, 
The power of beauty, and the sense of joy ; 
The physical grandeur of the earth and heaven ; 
But God himself was stranger to my thought ; 
I had a worship, but no inward faith ; 
I pray'd to gods of human lineament, 
Emblems of natural forces and desires ; 
I fill'd the woods with visionary shapes ; 
Peopled the hills, the vales, the rocks, the streams, 
The dark caves, and the sunny mountain-tops, 
With forms of beauty ; and conversed with them 
Upon unseen, unreal phantasies, 
Until they seem'd so palpable to sight, 
So like to men in passion, vice, and crime, 
I loathed, and shudder'd, and abhorr'd them all; 



80 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Nor knew in what abysm and hell of thought 
To sink remembrance. And I lived — and lived, 
Longer than hope ; and still I could not die. 

Then far away into the burning East 
I bent my steps. And at one drowsy noon, 
Under a palm-tree shade, beside a well, 
Sat down, and groan'd in bitterness of grief 
That God was still an alien to my soul. 
I cast my limbs upon the feverish ground 
And lay upon my face ; and with my tears 
Moisten'd the dust around me, praying still 
That I might die ; for I was sere of heart, 
Old, miserably old, and most forlorn. 
Thus lay I from the noon into the night, 
And from the night into the sudden dawn, 
And all that day I batten'd on my tears. 
"When, lo ! there came a pilgrim by the way, 
A pale, deject, and wiry-featured wretch, 
With hands all sinewy, like a parrot's claws, 
Thin lips, bright eyes, sunk cheeks, and grizzled hair. 
There was a comfort in his hideousness, 
As he sat down and gazed upon my grief, 
And gave me pity, and contemptuous cheer. 
" Brother," he said, " why what a fool art thou ! 
Neither in time, nor in eternity, 
Neither in God, in nature, nor in man, 
Is their aught worth the weeping of an hour. 
'Tis good to run, but better far to walk ; 
'Tis good to walk, but better to sit still ; 
'Tis good to stand and wake, but better far 
To lie and sleep, untroubled by a dream; 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUERUS. 81 

"Tis good to be when thought has been destroy'd, 

Better, far better, never to have been. 

The grass is happy ; happier is the stone. 

Highest of good is rest ; — rest so sublime, 

So deep, so thorough as to seem like death. 

Be Rest thy god. Let the winds moan, not thou ; 

Let the skies weep, but shed not thou a tear ; 

And sleep and fast thy troublous life away 

In one most happy and incessant calm, 

Till sweet annihilation blots thee out. 

This is .Religion, this the only Faith ; 

Bliss is absorption — Heaven is nothingness." 

He led me with his eye, — I follow'd him, 
And I became a dull insensate lump, 
And dozed in Buddha's temples night and day; 
I bruised in mortar of my selfishness 
All thoughts, all feeling, all desire, all vice, 
All virtue, into one amorphous mass 
Of apathy, and idiotcy, and sloth. 
How long I wallow'd in this senseless sty 
I never knew ; I was but half alive, 
And had no memory of time or change, 
Only at intervals a grievous pain. 

I was aroused at last, and scourged with whips, 
Kick'd, beaten, spat on, cast into the mire. 
Change had come o'er the places where I dwelt ; 
There was new law for men, new faith for God. 
The conqueror's sword had pass'd upon the plain, 
And what was spared did homage for its life. 
God and his Prophet were the lords of earth; 

G 



82 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And suddenly awaked, I found that I, 

Even I, was living ; that the world was new 

Though I was old, most lamentably old, 

Bat still condemn'd to mingle with my kind, 

And choose my faith. I did as others did, 

Learn'd the new law, and thought I served my God, 

I served him not. Obedience blind, inept, 

Unthinking, dull, insensate was the law. 

Tate lorded over Will ; Necessity 

Turn'd men into machines. I cast my eyes, 

Despairing still, upon the firmament, 

Jewell'd with worlds, and reason'd with myself 

If Fate or Will upheld them in their place; 

And in the infinite madness of my brain, 

Conceived that each, majestic as it shone, 

Was fill'd with misery and doubt like mine ; — 

A rolling hell set in the sky to preach. 

To other hells, as wretched as itself, 

The dreadful power, the boundlessness of ill. 

Long did I struggle with this deep despair, 

And vehemently pray, both morn and night, 

That I might be extinguished utterly; 

That I might lay upon the arid soil 

My lifeless bones, to feed the hungry roots 

Of hemlock or mandragora with lime ; 

That I at least might end my doubts in death, 

Though death were but the gate to other worlds 

Of spiritual anguish more intense than this. 

Another change came over me. Ere long 
I wander'd forth o'er Asiatic plains; 
Dwelt with the lizard in the crumbling halls 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUEKUS. 83 

Of antique cities desolate, whose names 

Were lost from memory. I shared the tent 

Of roving spearmen and banditti fierce, 

So utter old and sad, that murderous thieves 

Took pity on my want and misery, 

And spake me kindly, even when they loathed. 

I lay beneath the palms at set of sun, 

And wish'd that ravenous and night-prowling beasts 

Would tear me limb from limb before the dawn. 

I cross'd great deserts in the burning heat, 

Forded strong rivers, pierced through trackless woods — 

A thing so utter sad, that the lean wolves 

Fled terror-smitten when they met my glance, 

And hungry serpents hiss'd and slunk away. 

How long the madness burn'd, 'twere vain to 
tell ;— 
Time and Eternity seem'd one to me. 
But in a bright and lovely summer's morn 
I felt my limbs supple and strong again, 
As in my youth, ere grief and I were friends. 
Far had I journey'd to an eastern clime, 
'Mid an old people and an older faith. 
I found some comfort, yet I could not die. 
Still was Obedience law : childish and calm, 
Not to a blind and cruel destiny, 
But to the wise irrevocable rule 
Of a just Deity, that made mankind, 
And sent his clay-vicegerents to the earth, 
To rule them justly, if they would submit 
To walk for ever in the same dull track, — 
To live and act, from barren age to age, 
g 2 



84 VOICES FEOM THE MOUNTAINS. 

In the same fashion, with the same desires, 
Same thoughts, same habits, and same prejudice; 
More dull and senseless than a stagnant mire, 
That even in its rottenness and sloth 
Breeds something novel from its fruitful slime : — 
But they bred nothing, only their dull selves ; 
And I despised them, hated them — and lived ! 
And knew by living I was still accursed, 
And loved not God nor yet my fellow-men. 

There was no resting here : my fiery soul 
Felt mortal anguish to co-herd with theirs. 
I went again a wanderer o'er the earth, 
Taking no heed of time, or place, or change, 
But weary, weary, abject and forlorn. 

One year ago — 'twas but one little year — 
I enter'd, in my rags and squalidness, 
A large fair city of the populous West • 
The church-bells rang, the people were astir 
In countless multitudes through all the streets; 
Gay banners flaunted in the morning air, 
And waves of music, from the Gothic porch 
Of a cathedral, rnsh'd in floods divine, 
Now in full tidal flow, and now in ebb, 
So grand, so awe-inspiring, that even I, 
Despised, abandon'd, abject, and abhorr'd, 
Felt holy joy to listen to the sound, 
"Which soothed my spirit with melodious peace. 

I listen'd long ; for my sad heart was full. 
I could have floated painlessly to death, 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUERUS. 85 

And bless' d the music with my latest sigh, — 

But that a sudden plucking at the hem, 

All mire-bedraggled, of my tatter'd robe, 

Caused me to turn : I saw a fair young face, 

Sweet even as hers who loved me in her youth — 

She whom I now, for the first time, forgave 

For wrongs inflicted on my trusting heart ; 

Like — but unlike ; lovely — yet not so fair ; 

And at my miserable feet she knelt 

To crave my blessing : — " Blessing ! and from me ! 

From me, the vilest, meanest of mankind?" 

"Ay, and from thee !" she said; "we know thee well, 

Thou hast long suffer' d — thou'rt a saint of God." 

And all the people, gathering round about, 

Join'd in her supplication ; kneeling down, 

To crave my blessing — not in mockery, 

But with deep reverence. Strange it seem'd, that I, 

Who had not known for spanless gulfs of time 

What blessing meant, should have the power to bless ! 



I could not bless her, for I felt my heart 
Glow with dear memories forgotten long, 
Brought back upon me by her mild sweet face. 
The burden of my long-enduring pain 
Was lighten'd by that pity, and I wept ; 
And every tear I shed became to me 
Relief and joy, as, with an earnest voice, 
I bless'd the people, showing them the while 
My own un worthiness more great than theirs ; 
Unmeet my lips to utter words of peace, 
Who long had cursed myself and all my kind. 



86 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And now the hoary portals opening wide, 
Forth issued an array of robed priests, 
In white and scarlet ; boys with censers flung 
Eich incense in the air, while others hymn'd, 
With sweet clear voice, " Hosanna to the Lord ! ' 
And all the people knelt, and with them I. 
The solemn music fill'd the pliant air, 
And a religious sense was wafted round, — 
Sense superadded, and unfelt before. 
I could not rise; my cramp'd and weary joints 
Seem'd bloodless as the stones on which I knelt ; 
And the procession and the people pass'd 
In all their gorgeousness ; and I was left 
To my own strength, to follow if I list, 
Or lie upon the pavement and expire. 

I rose. I felt within my secret soul 
More peace than had been mine since the great 

curse 
Was spoken by the Presence for my sin. 
But as I could not stay to be a saint, 
And bear the flattery of the ignorant, 
With a new courage I endued my heart, 
And pray'd for strength, and went upon my way, 

Here am I now. In thy serene abode, 
I've gain'd new comfort from thy reverend lips, 
And learn'd the secret of my destiny. 
'Twas thou that taught me from the blessed Book 
That God is Love; and that those serve Him best 
Who love their fellows, and obey the law, 



THE CONFESSION OF AHASUERUS. 87 

Sublime but easy, preaoh'd by Him who died 
To seal His doctrine by his guiltless blood. 

I have not long to live. My race is run. 
I would live longer, were it but to preach 
To other souls as wretched as my own, 
The mighty truth, that God is Love indeed ; 
But feel within me that mine hour is come. 
I shall not see the morning dawn again; 
My sin is pardon'd — I shall die in peace. 

Bury me by myself — under a cross, 
And put a fair white tombstone o'er my grave. 
Place on it name, nor date, nor words, save these : 
"He learn'd in suffering that God was Love, 
And died in hope." Bear with me for a while 3 
I shall not die ere I have slept an hour. 
Mine eyes are weary, let me close them now; 
I shall awake to bless thee and depart. 
Visions of glory throng upon my soul: 
Brother, farewell, I'll see thee yet again, 
Here and hereafter. Let me slumber now. 



*^&-t&^s)*$*-» 



88 VOICES FHOM THE MOUNTAINS. 



A EEVEEIE IN THE GEASS. 

Here let me rest, amid the bearded grass, 
Sprinkled with buttercups ; and idly pass 
One hour of sunshine on the green hill-slope, 
"Watching the ridged clouds that o'er the cope 
Of visible heaven sail quietly along ; 
Listening the wind, or rustling leaves, or song 
Of blackbird or sweet ringdove in the copse 
Of pines and sycamores, whose dark green tops 
Form a clear outline right against the blue : — 
Here let me lie and dream, losing from view 
All vex'd and worldly things, and for one hour 
Living such life as green leaf in a bower 
Might live ; breathing the calm, pure air, 
Heedless of hope, or fear, or joy, or care. 

Oh, it is pleasant in this summer time, 
To sit alone and meditate or rhyme; 
To hear the bee plying his busy trade, 
Or grasshopper alert in sun and shade, 
With bright large eyes and ample forehead bald, 
Clad in cuirass and cuishes emerald. 
Here let me rest, and for a little space 
Shut out the world from my abiding-place ; 
Seeing around me nought but grass aud bent, 
Nothing above me but the firmament ; 



A REVERIE IN THE GRASS. 89 

For such my pleasure, that in solitude 
Over my seething fancies I may brood, 
Encrucibled and moulded as I list, 
And I, expectant as an alchymist. 

Oh, beautiful green grass! Earth-covering fair! 
What shall be sung of thee, nor bright, nor rare, 
Nor highly thought oil Long green grass that waves 
By the wayside, over the ancient graves, 
Or shoulders of the mountain looming high, 
Or skulls of rocks, bald in their majesty, 
Except for thee, that in the crevices 
Liv'st on the nurture of the sun and breeze ; 
Adorner of the nude rude breast of hills, 
Mantle of meadows, fringe of gushing rills, 
Humblest of all the humble, thou shalt be, 
If to none else, exalted unto me, 
And for a time, a type of joy on Earth — 
Joy unobtrusive, of perennial birth, 
Common as light and air, and warmth and rain, 
And all the daily blessings that in vain 
Woo us to gratitude : the earliest born 
Of all the juicy verdures that adorn 
The fruitful bosom of the kindly soil ; 
Pleasant to eyes that ache, and limbs that toil. 

Lo ! as I muse, I see the bristling spears 
Of thy seed-bearing stalks, which some, thy peers, 
Lift o'er their fellows, nodding to and fro 
Their lofty foreheads as the wild winds blow, 
And think thy swarming multitudes a host, 
Drawn up embattled on their native coast, 



90 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

And officer'd for war : — the spearmen free 
Raising their weapons, and the martial bee 
Blowing his clarion, while some poppy tall 
Displays the blood-red banner over all. 

Pleased with the thought, I nurse it for a while, 
And then dismiss it with a faint half-smile. 
And next I fancy thee a multitude, 
Moved by one breath, obedient to the mood 
Of one strong thinker — the resistless wind, 
That, passing o'er thee, bends thee to its mind. 
See how thy blades, in myriads as they grow, 
Turn ever eastward as the west winds blow — 
Just as the human crowd is sway'd and bent, 
By some great preacher, madly eloquent, 
Who moves them at his will, and with a breath 
Gives them their bias both in life and death. 
Or by some wondrous actor, when he draws 
All eyes and hearts, amid a hush'd applause, 
Not to be utter'd, lest delight be marr'd ; 
Or, greater still, by hymn of prophet-bard, 
Who moulds the lazy present by his rhyme, 
And sings the glories of a future time. 

And ye are happy, green leaves, every one, 
Spread in your countless thousands to the sun ! 
Unlike mankind, no solitary blade 
Of all your verdure ever disobey'd 
The law of nature : every stalk that lifts 
Its head above the mould, enjoys the gifts 
Of liberal heaven — the rain, the dew, the light ; 
And points, though humbly, to the Infinite; 



A REVERIE IN THE GRASS. 91 

And every leaf, a populous world, maintains 
Invisible nations on its wide-stretch'd plains. 
So great is littleness ! the mind at fault 
Betwixt the peopled leaf and starry vault, 
Doubts which is grandest, and, with holy awe, 
Adores the God who made them, and whose law 
Upholds them in Eternity or Time, 
Greatest and least, inefiably sublime 



oO^O^ 



92 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 



LOVE OR WISDOM ? 

"Were I so mad as I have been of yore, 
I would be happy : mad with beauty's eyes ; 
Mad with the voice of one I could adore, 
And the sweet music of her soft replies : 
Mad with the charms of a serene bright fact' 
Possess'd, and inly haunted, by the grace 
Of some fair creature, in her form, and mind 
The star and paragon of all her kind. 



For if I were so happy-mad again, 
I'd live anew. I'd feed upon delights ; 
I'd find enraptured frenzy in a pain; 
I'd roam, dreaming awake, through summer nights, 
And hear a murmuring music in the air, 
Which I would harmonize into a word — 
That word her name. I'd kneel with forehead bare, 
Out in the solemn woods, unseen, unheard, 
And call on earth to bless her as she trod; 
Sweet winds to fan her, skies to drop her joy ; 
And would invoke the providence of God 
To keep her harmless, not let care annoy, 
Nor sorrow vex, nor pleasure pall on sense; 
My being hers, hers mine, and both intense 



LOVE OR WISDOM? 93 

With a full, throbbing, rapturous, infinite bliss 

In being loved. For madness such as this, 

I'd give up wisdom and her castled clouds ; 

I would unlearn all I have learn' d ; give back 

Experience, and the blazoning breath of crowds 

Wafting Fame's incense forward on my track. 

I would forego all hope, and all desire 

But one ; that life might be a blank white page, 

Where Fate might write one word of heavenly fire — - 

Love : that so breathing the delicious rage, 

My veins might run it, and my brain might take 

That for sole impulse, and for Love's sweet sake 

Nature put on her bridal robes, and blush 

Beauty upon me from each tree and flower; 

And in her nightly gleam, her morning flush, 

Her buzzing noon, and evening's golden hour, 

Converse with me upon the one great theme 

With all her voices ; meadow, mountain, stream, 

Forest, and ocean, uttering but one sound 

Ever and ever as the world went round, 

The stars repeating it, with meanings rife, 

And that word Love : — this would be living life ! 



For why? And wert thou in that fiery craze 
So happy, that thou wouldst indeed recall 
What thou hast seen, done, suffer'd in the days 
When thy blood boil'd, and thou wert passion all? 
Poor fool! forgetful of departed woes, 
Past misery, anguish, discontent, and tears; 
Mindful alone of pleasure and repose, 
Seen, through the wave of the refractive years, 



94 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

In colours not their own. When Love was thine, 

Wert ,thou not heart-sore ? Didst thou not repine 

For something that was past, or was to come 1 ? 

Was not that day as wearisome as this? 

Its music stale? Its friendly voices dumb, 

And thou a dreamer of remoter bliss? 

Poor fool ! to-morrow thou wilt bless to-day, 

And wish it back ; and with a new disgust 

Think of the newest time, till, fled away, 

It leaves thee memory, and a fresh mistrust : 

And so thou journeyest, thankless, to the dust. 

Be not so mad as thou hast been of yore, 

Yet happier far. Is not the now thine own? 

Now ever present? now for evermore? 

Now always with thee, but its worth unknown, 

Or lightly thought of? Lay its mystery bare, 

And learn the mighty secret how to live; — 

Learn, that if mind be pure, the world is fair; 

And that the outer sunshine cannot give 

Such Warmth, and Joy, and Beauty, as the light 

Cast by the inner spirit infinite, 

When it is clear from every sensual stain. 

Simple and thankful, live not thou in vain, 

Nor hurry to the goal with desperate haste 

To make the present past, and both a waste. 



<K>J*«C 



95 



FOLLOW YOUR LEADER. 

"Follow your leader/" So said Hope, 
In the joyous days when I was young ; 

O'er meadow path, up mountain-slope, 
Through fragrant woods, I follow'd and sung; 

And aye in the sunny air she smiled, 
Bright as the cherub in Paphos born, 

And aye my soul with a glance she wiled, 
And tinged all earth with the hues of morn. 

Long she led me o'er hill and hollow, 
Through rivers wide, o'er mountains dun, 

Till she soar'd at last too high to follow, 
And scorch'd her pinions in the sun. 

"Follow your leader!" So said Love, 
Or a fairy sporting in his guise. 

I follow'd, to lift the challenging glove 
Of many a maid with tell-tale eyes. 

I follow'd, and dream'd of young delights, 
Of passionate kisses, joyous pains, 

Of honey'd words in sleepless nights, 
And amorous tear-drops thick as rains. 

But ah ! full soon the frenzy slacken'd ; 
There came a darkness and dimm'd the ray, 

The passion cool'd, the sunshine blacken'd, 
I lost the glory of my day. 



9G VOICES FROM TIIE MOUNTAINS. 

"Follow your leader!" So said Fame, 
In the calmer hours of my fruitful noon. 

O'er briery paths, through frost, through flame, 
By torrent, and swamp, and wild lagoon, 

Ever she led me, and ever I went, 
"With bleeding feet and sun-brown skin, 

Eager ever and uncontent, 
As long as life had a prize to win. 

But Dead-Sea apples alone she gave me, 
To recompense me for my pain, 

And still though her luring hand she gave me, 
I may not follow her steps again. 



"Follow your leader!" So said Gold, 
Ere the brown of my locks gave place to grey. 

I could not follow — her looks were cold; 
Icy and brittle was the way; 

And Gold spread forth her wiles in vain ; 
So taking Power to aid her spell, 

"Follow your leaders!''' exclaim'd the twain, 
" For where we go shall pleasure dwell." 

I follow'd, and follow'd, till age came creeping, 
And silver'd the hair on my aching head, 

And I lamented, in vigils weeping, 
A youth misspent, and a prime misled. 



"Follow your leader!" I hear a voice, 
Whispering to my soul this hour; — 

"Who follows my light shall for ever rejoice, 
Nor crave the perishing arm of Power ; 



FOLLOW YOUR LEADER. 97 

Who follows my steps shall for ever hold 
A. blessing purer than earthly love, 

Brighter than Fame, richer than Goijd — 
So follow my light and look above." 

'Tis late to turn, but refuse I may not, 
My trustful eyes are heavenwards cast, 

And ever the sweet voice says, "Delay not, 
Fm thy first leader and thy last.'" 

'Tis the friend of my youth come back again, 
Sober'd and chasten'd — but lovelier far 

Than when in those days of sun and rain 
She shone in my path as a guiding star. 

She led me then, a wayward boy, 
To things of Earth, and never of Heaven, 

But now she whispers diviner joy, 
Of errors blotted, of sins forgiven. 

To a purpling sky she points her finger, 
As westward wearily I plod, 

And while I follow her steps, I linger, 
Calm as herself, in the faith of God. 



-— ic^^^g^fc^ — 



93 voices mom the mountains. 



THE DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 

A FRAGMENT. 

"The Girondins spent the last night of their captivity in the 
great dungeon — that Hall of Death. The tribunal had ordered 
that the still warm corpse of Valaze should be taken back to the 
prison, carried on the same cart with his accomplices to the 
place of execution, and buried with them. * * The gendarmes 
placed the body in a corner of the prison. The Girondins, one 
after the other, kissed the heroic hand of their friend. They 
covered his face with his mantle. ' To morrow ! ' said they to 
the corpse ; and they gathered their strength for the coming day. 
It was near midnight. The deputy Bailleul, proscribed like them, 
but concealed in Paris, had promised to send them from without, 
on the day of their judgment, a last repast — of triumph or of death, 
according as they might be acquitted or condemned. By the help 
ot a friend, he kept his word. The funeral supper was spread in 
the great dungeon. Costly viands, rare wines, flowers, and lights 
covered the oak table of the prison. * * The meal lasted till 
the dawn of day. Vergniaud, seated near the centre of the 
table, presided with the same calm dignity which he had pre- 
served during the night of the 10th of August, while presiding 
over the Convention. The guests ate and drank with sobriety 
— merely to recruit their strength. Their discourse was grave 
and solemn, though not sad. Many of them spoke of the 
immortality of the soul and expressed their belief in a future 
state." — Lamartine's History of the Girondins. 

"The last night of the Girondins was sublime. "Vergniaud 
was provided with poison. He threw it away that he might die 
with his friends. They took a last meal together, at which they 
were by turns merry, serious, and eloquent. Brissot and 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDIXS. 90 

Gensonne were grave and pensive. Vergniaud spoke of expiring 
liberty in the noblest terms of regret, and of the destination of 
man with persuasive eloquence. Ducos repeated verses which 
he had composed in prison ; and they all joined in singing 
hymns to France and Liberty." — Thiers' s History of the French 
Involution. 

VERGNIAUD. 

Never despair of goodness : men are bad, 

But have been worse. The badness shall die out ; 

The goodness, like the thistle-down, shall float, 

Bearing a germ beneath its tiny ear — 

A germ predestined to become a tree, 

To fall on fruitful soil, and on its boughs 

Bear seed enough to stock the universe. 

Never despair of Freedom : though we die 

In cruel martyrdom most undeserved, 

What matters it, if Truth survive our bones ? 

No my dear brothers, we shall not despair, 

Now or hereafter, for ourselves or men ; 

For we are sorrow-proof ; our souls have borne 

All the worst ills that can afflict the just. 

We can sit down in strength of virtuous will, 

And dare all malice and all power of men 

To add ope mental pang to bodily death, 

Or rob us of the smallest privilege 

That appertains to our humanity. 

They may manure their gardens with our flesh, 

And decompose our scaffolding of bones, 

But cannot harm us, cannot touch the 7, 

The Thou, that dwells in clay receptacle, 

Vast, awful, inaccessible, alone, 

And indestructible as earth or heaven. 



100 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

BRISSOT. 

Would we could summon our poor Valaze 
To visit us, and his forsaken corpse 
Which bears us now such mournful company ! 
What secrets he could tell us if he might ! 
Perchance even now he listens to our words, 
And shares our sorrows as he shared before. 

SILLERY. 

I do propose that in a solemn pledge 
Over this wine we bear our love to him — 
The soul of Valaze, if soul he have, 
Outliving its poor garb of flesh and bone, 
Or I, or thou, or any piece of dust 
That walks on legs and calls itself a man ; 
Here's to his memory ! — and if he live, 
May he be happy in the light of heaven ! 

BRISSOT. 

Dear Valaze ! 'tis pleasant to my soul, 

For soul / have, coeval with its God, 

To think that he is with us at this hour ; 

Fill'd with the virtuous joy that shall be ours, 

Soon as the bloody knife has done its work 

In opening the door 'twixt earth and heaven, 

And letting us go free. 

LASOURCE. 

Free of the earth perhaps, but free as gods 1 
To love, to know, to labour, to aspire 1 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 101 

They say that Heaven is full beatitude, 
Bliss infinite and yet a bliss complete, 
Sum of all hopes and crown of all desire. 
I would not pass into a stagnant heaven, 
For ever singing psalms and saying prayers. 
Ah, no ! the heaven that my spirit craves, 
If place it be, and not a state of mind, 
Is place for progress — infinite as God. 
There is no good but effort. Paradise, 
With nothing to be done, would be to me 
Worse than the blackest Hell that Dante drew, 
Or English Milton in his awful song. 

DUCOS. 

What work wouldst do? Wouldst like to strive 

in Heaven 
With Eobespierres or Dantons? or wouldst go 
Down to the other place to battle there? 

LASOURCE. 

As for the other place, there is no Hell 
But that which dwells in the ungodly soul — 
A Hell eternal as the soul itself. 
But for the virtuous and aspiring mind 
There is no task more adequate to Heaven 
Than war with Error. Light was only made 
To change the alien Darkness to itself; 
Love but to conquer and extinguish Hate. 

CARRA. 

I have two doubts ; but to my tranquil mind 
Each is a comfort. If perchance I go 



102 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Out of this body and remain myself, 

I feel that God is good, and that this self 

Shall not be damn'd, whatever bigots feign, 

But shall enjoy the infinitude of love. 

And if I go not hence — if I am this — 

This bag of joints, and arteries, and flesh — 

Nothing besides — and consciousness expires 

When the lungs cease their functions, and the heart 

Sends to the pulse the living stream no more, 

There is nor disappointment, grief, nor pain, 

In thought of nothingness. I've lived my life, 

And can go down to Death without a pang, 

And think annihilation bliss indeed. 



DUCOS. 

I not. I take an interest in things, 

And would be glad to learn the fate of France, 

For whose dear sake we die to-morrow morn ; 

And if the " incorruptible " corrupt 

And bloody Robespierre shall 'scape the toils 

He sets for us. I should be glad to know 

How long the savage hounds that lap our blood 

Shall offer up such holocausts to Hate, 

As we shall be ere shines another sun. 

Nor that alone ; — I should rejoice to see 

What great new poets shall arise with Time, 

What famous plays and mighty play-actors 

Shall draw the tears from lovely ladies' eyes, 

Or dimple their sweet cheeks to heavenly smiles ; 

What new discoveries shall yet be made, 

Greater than printing or than gunpowder; 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 103 

And what shall be the fashion of men's beards 
And young girls' petticoats a century hence ; 
How long the French Republic shall endure, 
And whether any Cromwell shall arise 
To turn our troubles to his own account ; 
Or, worst of all, whether the Capet race 
Shall mount the throne again, to play the fool. 
And drive humanity a century back ; 
And whether Catholic and Protestant 
Shall hate each other in the days to come, 
And do foul murder for the love of God, 
As they have done since Luther was a priest. 

FONFREDE. 

And so should I ; but not alone to know. 

To see the miseries of this poor world, 

Without the power to aid in their relief, 

Would be indeed as bad as pitchy hell, 

And worms that die not, and tormenting fiends. 

No, no, Ducos ; if we return at all, 

We shall return refresh'd, and play a part. 

VERGNIAUD. 

Keep to thy thought, Fonfrede, and lose it not ; 
The soul, partaker of Divinity, 
Must be partaker of Infinity — 
Must know alike the secrets of all space, 
And of this little grain of rolling sand 
That we are born upon. Yes, we shall see, 
Clear as a book, the riddle of the world ; 
We shall repeat the watchword of the stars; 



104 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

We shall drink in divine enravishment, 
As full upon us burst the harmonies 
Of rolling planets, systems, firmaments. 
The key-note of the music shall be plain, 
And we shall strike it whenso'er we will, 
And add to infinite Joy, Love infinite. 

FAUCHET. 

If we are worthy. Not to every soul 
Such love and joy as thou depicturest. 
Freed from its earthly shell, th' eternal mind 
Must struggle there, as it has struggled here, 
Upward, still ujjward, with incessant toil, 
To make itself partaker of the bliss, 
That in a widening circle God hath spread 
Through His ineffable eternity. 

SILLERY. 

Is talking, struggling 1 ? For I trust, dear friend, 

There will be talking in the other world, 

And that we twenty-one now supping here, 

Discoursing mistily of earth and heaven, 

Shall have a nobler banquet in the sky, 

And better talk in better company, 

To-morrow night ; — banquet of heavenly fruits, 

Ambrosia, nectar, manna, wine of gods, 

And converse with the mighty men of yore : — 

Socrates, Plato, Buddha, Mahomet, 

Homer, Anacreon, Euripides, 

Ovid and Dante, Shakspeare and Corneille, 

With Cresar, Antony, and Constautine, 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 105 

With Cleopatra, Hero, Helena, 

Eve, and Semiramis, and Joan of Arc, 

And a whole host of the undying dead — 

Sages, philosophers, and ancient kings, 

Bards, statesmen, actors, dancing girls, and wits, 

And most beloved, our brother Valaze, 

Gone as a herald to announce the doom 

Of three times seven unconquerable souls, 

Coming to join him ere the world goes round, 

Or the next twilight deepens into day. 

LASOURCE. 

What ails our friend, our brother "Vergniaud 1 
His gaze is fix'd upon vacuity — 
He hears us not — he looks, but sees us not. 
Kind sleep has thrown her mantle over him, 
And in his slumber flow unbidden tears. 

FONFREDE. 

I could weep with him. Here we sit and talk 
Of heaven and hell, unloosing knotty points, 
Or grappling with them, but to make the coil 
A worse entanglement — forgetting France, 
And those who love us. I 've not shed a tear, 
But I could weep a flood, and in each drop 
Pay tribute to my own humanity, 
Which blushes for me, that I should forget, 
In these last hours, my few, my faithful friends ; 
And she, the dear companion of my soul — 
My love — my better life — that prays for me 
In solitude and sorrow; or, perchance, 



106 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Watches outside these very walls, and weeps. 
The tears are gathering in my eyes for her, 
And they must flow, or make my heart a wreck. 



VERGNIAUD. 

Let the flood burst : tears are the wine of grief. 

And will inspire thee more than sparkling Ai 

Can stir the pulses of a bacchanal. 

I crave no pardon for the tears I've shed, 

The latest luxury that I shall taste. 

In one short minute I have lived a life, 

Felt all my joys, and suffer'd all my woes ; 

Loved all my loves, hoped all my hopes, despair'd 

All the despairs that ever dull'd my sense ; 

Spoken my speeches, stirr'd a listening land 

In name of freedom and the rights of men, 

Ending this cosmorama of my days 

By weeping on the breast of her I love 

The tears you saw me shed — the tears whose flow 

Kefresh'd my heated brain, and bore me back 

To consciousness of now, which I had lost. 



gensonnl;. 

Even so with me. I have been living lives 
In minutes since our festival began. 
Aye as the sands grows scanty in the glass 
Of unrelenting Time, the falling grain 
Exceeds in value all that went before, 
And years of feeling load the back of each. 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS- 107 

Five minutes past I was a little child — 

I roam'd in meadows, gathering violets, 

I bathed my tiny feet in running streams, 

I strutted o'er the sward with martial drum, 

I conn'd my painful lesson in the school, 

I nestled in my little sister's breast, 

And fell asleep, my arms entwining her. 

And then I grew into a thoughtful boy, 

Full of high projects and intense desires — 

Passion and folly, wisdom and romance, 

Ruling my soul by turns. Another grain 

Dropp'd in the glass, and, lo ! I was a man 

Fill'd with ambition and desire of fame, 

Raising my voice above the popular din, 

To swell the rallying cry of ceaseless war 

To royal tyranny and feudal wrong. 

Another grain dropp'd through, and I was wed, 

And lived long years of bridal happiness. 

I built my house upon a hill , I plann'd 

Gardens and orchards, parks and sloping lawns, 

And fled from clash of modern politics 

To ancient lore and calm philosophy. 

Another grain, and all the visions fled. 

I braved false judges in the judgment-seat, 

Dishonouring judgment and the name of man ; 

Defied them to their teeth, and dared to die 

And leave my fate a legacy to Time. 

All this, and more, unwinding like a scroll, 

Has pass'd before me at this feast of death, 

Even as I talk'd, and drank, and laugh'd with you. 

A double consciousness — an added self 

Swathed me all o'er, as glory swathes a saint. 



108 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

DUCOS. 

Thy visions have been brave, dear Gensonne. 

/ have been thinking of my mistresses, 

Eulalie, Marie, Gabrielle, Fifine — 

Who loved me first — who last — and who the best ; 

And whether one of them to-morrow morn 

Will give a last and solitary thought 

To me, a man defrauded of my head, 

Having no property in my own life, 

And lost to them for loving liberty, 

And daring to interpret for myself 

What meant the name. 

SILLERY. 

Didst love the four at once ? or two by two ? 
Or didst thou take the darlings one by one? 
Or love this liberty still more than them? 
In either case why should they weep for thee, 
So loose and fickle in thy preference ? 
And yet 'tis sweet to know a woman sighs 
For our distresses, and would share them all, 
If sharing would relieve. Fill up again — 
We grow lugubrious. /, that ever laugh'd, 
Crutch-ridden and decrepit as I am, 
At nightly comedy, and daily farce, 
Play'd in all places — forum, palace, street, 
In church and tavern, attic or saloon — 
Must not be tragic, ev'n though dungeon-walls 
Shut from my vision that stupendous farce, 
The rolling earth. Fill to the brim your cups. 
We'll toast our friends, our wives, our mistresses. 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 109 

VERGXIAUD. 

God bless the maid whose image fills my soul, 

The incarnation of all purity — 

All modesty — all loveliness — all grace, 

My own heart's partner — my betrothed wife ; — 

Never to see me in this mortal state — 

Never to these pale, faithful lips of mine 

To give the answering kiss of plighted truth ! 

God shower His blessings on her ! May she live, 

Uiiscatli'd. in all the perils of the time, 

And love of me be thought no crime in her 

By those who wield the destinies of France, 

And slay the innocent ! 

FAUCHET. 

Amen, Amen — for her, and all we love ! 

DUCOS. 

"We grow too serious. If we ransack thus 

The stores of memory for joys bygone, 

For hopes decay'd, and loves for ever lost, 

We shall unman ourselves, and yield our breath 

Like love-sick maidens, who in deep decline, 

Aye prattle prettily of moonlit seas, 

Fresh flowers, green meads, and shady forest-walks, 

To the last moment of their artless lives. 

In my philosophy there are no tears, 

No sighs, no groans, no useless fond regrets, 

But a stout heart, and laughter to the last. 



110 VOICES FROM THE MO UK TAINS. 

(Sings.) 
THE CAP AND BELLS. 

Did you ever trust a friend, 

And when cheated trust him more 1 
Ever seek to gain your end, 

Knocking at a rich man's door? 
Do you trust your Doris fair, 

When her tale of love she tells 1 ? 
You deserve the cap you wear, 

Jingle, jangle — shake your bells ! 

Think you that the men are wise 

Who embark in public strife ? 
Or their judgment do you prize 

Who for country risk their life 1 
Truth's existence could you swear 1 

Or affirm where honour dwells 1 
You deserve the cap you wear, 

Jingle, jangle — shake your bells ! 

FONFREDE. 

The voice is good — the singer, my good friend — - 

The manner perfect, but the song itself 

A baseless libel. Try again, Ducos, 

And give us something in a nobler mood. 

We may not die with falsehood on our tongues, 

And gibes and sneers curvetting on our lips. 

DUCOS. 

If like a swan, I must expire in song, 
Hear my death anthem. Join it if you will. 



DEATH BANQUET OF TIEE GIB02JDIXS. Ill 



THE GREY OWL. 

The grey owl sat on the belfry-leads, 

And look'd o'er the Seine to the place of heads, 

Over the Seine to the Place de Greve. 

The winds were sighing, the trees replying ; 

The moonlight stream'd o'er the abbey-nave, 
Over the house-tops silently lying 
White as the mist when the morn is new } 
And aye the owl, so solemn of look, 
The speckled grey of his plumage shook, 
And screech' d in the turret — tu vjheet, tu whoo ! 

Clear and full the moonlight swam 
Around the towers of Notre Dame, 

And tinged on the Greve the guillotine — 
The winds ivere sighing, the trees replying — 

When a cry was heard the gusts between, 
A moan for the dead, and not for the dying, 
Dolefullv sounding the faubourgs through. 

'Twas the howl of a dog for his master slain. 

And the grey owl flapp'd his wiDgs again, 
And screecKd in the turret — tu ivheet, tu ivhoo ! 

He flapp'd his wings and away he lurch'd 
Over the Seine, and, resting, perch'd 

On the high cross-beam of the guillotine-top. 
The ivinds ivere sighing, the trees replying — 

The tail of the howling hound did drop 
As he saw, through the pallid moonlight flying, 
The doleful bird loom into his view , 



112 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 

He ceased his moan and slunk away, 
And the old owl rustled his pinions grey, 
A nd screeclid from the scaffold — tu wheel, tu whoo ! 

" Hurra !" quoth he, as the creature ran ; 

"What right have dogs to moan for man, 
Or of love like this to make pretence?" 

The winds were sighing, the trees replying. 

11 Such canine truth is a foul offence ; 

For if every fool on the guillotine dying, 

Had a friend like this to howl and rue, 
Their noise would drown the people's roar 
When it tasted blood and clamour'd for more." 

And the grey owl screectid — tu wheet, tu whoo ! 

"I wot that to-morrow's sun shall see 
The death of a goodly company — 

I trust no dogs will howl for them." 
The winds were sighing, the trees replying. 

" Two-and-twenty we condemn — 
One has escaped from the shame of dying, 
Open'd a door and glided through ; 

Yet two-and-twenty heads in all 

Under the bloody knife shall fall." 
And the grey owl screeclid — tu wheet, tu whoo ! 

"Many shall follow them day by day, 
The harvest-time shall not delay — 

The headsman's harvest, so ripe, so red.'" 1 
The winds were sighing, the trees replying — 

"I know the name of each sentenced head — 
Danton, the harsh and death-defying — 



DEATH BANQUET OF THE GIRONDINS. 113 

All his friends that think him true — 
Brutal and greedy Pere Duchesne, 
With all his comrades, all his train." 

And the grey owl screech' d — tu wheet, to whoo ! 

"And after a while a greater still 

Shall tread the road, shall climb the hill, 

Amid the shouts of the changeful crowd" — 
The winds were sighing, the trees replying. 
"And shall headless sleep in a bloody shroud. 
Hated in life, accursed in dying, 
He shall meet the doom of the twenty-two; 

And his name shall live the world to scare — 

'Tis Robespierre! 'tis Robespierre!" 
And the grey owl screectid — tu wheet, tu whoo! 

SILLERY. 

Who is your owl, Ducos? — the embodied soul 

Of Marat visiting the earth again? 

Whoe'er he be, his prophecies are safe, 

And through the glooms of Time his eyes can see 

About as clearly as some men's, I know. 

Tis a brave bird, Ducos, and speaks the truth, 

'Although his voice is harsh, his truth a fear, 

And deeds of blood his too familiar thought. 

LASOURCE. 

Behold the dawn : it breaks upon the world. 
How at this hour the oceans sport their waves, 
And turn their frothy ringlets to the light, 
And all the peaks of Alps and Apennines 



114 VOICES FEOM THE MOUNTAINS. 

Catch on their snowy heights the ruddy gold. 

The silver, and the purple, and the grey, 

And all the glory of its majesty. 

The ancient forests shake their lordly boughs, 

And pay obeisance to the rising morn ; 

The green fields smile, dew glistening, in its face , 

The distant towns and villages awake, 

The milk-maid sings, the cow-boy winds his horn, 

And lowing cattle climb the sunward hills. 

The twin grey towers of ancient Notre Dame 

Are gilded with a smile, like hoary age 

Relaxing to behold an infant's play. 

Ay, even the gory guillotine receives 

The splendour of the morning, and the slave 

Drinks of the sunshine freely as the free. 

What beauty compasses the teeming world ! 

What hideous spectacles ungrateful men 

Throw in its face, to tire it of itself! 

Beautiful morn ! my blessing upon day ! 

SILLERY. 

And mine — if worth acceptance. But behold, 

The gaoler comes — our feast is at an end ; 

The death-bell tolls. Time fades to nothingness ; 

The hideous dream of life draws to its close ; 

The morning of Eternity is near. 

Let us arise and wake like healthful men. 

FAUCHET. 

May God have mercy on us, and forgive 
Our enemies, as we forgive them now. 



DEATH BANQUET OP THE GIRONDINS. 115 



VERGNIAUD. 



Farewell, dear brothers — farewell, friends beloved. 

The victims of a fearful tyranny 

We die, but leave our names an heritage 

That France shall wear, and boast of to the world. 



THE END. 



PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON. 



f tarn ixsm % dDrofob, $t. 



0mas from ilje €xalA 



THE WATCHES ON THE TO WEE. 

" What dost thou see, lone watcher on the tower ' 
Is the day breaking? conies the wish'd-for hour? 
Tell us the signs, and stretch abroad thy hand 
If the bright morning dawns upon the land." 

" The stars are clear above me, scarcely one 
Has dimm'd its rays in reverence to the sun ; 
But yet I see, on the horizon's verge, 
Some fair, faint streaks, as if the light would surge.' 

" Look forth again, O watcher on the tower — 
The people wake, and languish for the hour ; 
Long have they dwelt in darkness, and they pine 
For the full daylight which they know must shine.' 

"I see not well — the morn is cloudy still. — 
There is a radiance on the distant hill ; 
Even as I watch the glory seems to grow ; 
But the stars blink, and the night breezes blow." 

B 



2 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

" And is tliat all, O watcher on the tower ? 
Look forth again ; it must be near the hour. 
Dost thou not see the snowy mountain-copes, 
And the green woods beneath them on the slopes?' 

"A mist envelopes them ; I cannot trace 
Their outline; but the day comes on apace. 
The clouds roll up in gold and amber flakes, 
And all the stars grow dim. The morning breaks.' 

(t We thank thee, lonely watcher on the tower ; 
But look again ; and tell us, hour bj hour, 
All thou beholdest. Many of us die 
Ere the day comes ; oh, give us a reply f" 

" I see the hill-tops now ; and Chanticleer 
Crows his prophetic carol on mine ear; — 
I see the distant woods and fields of corn, 
And Ocean gleaming in the light of morn." 

" Again — again — O watcher on the tower ! 
We thirst for daylight, and we bide the hour, 
Patient, but longing. Tell us, shall it be 
A bright, calm, glorious daylight for the free 1 ?" 

" I hope, but cannot tell. I hear a song, 
Vivid as day itself, and clear and strong, 
As of a lark — young prophet of the noon — 
Pouring in sunlight his seraphic tune." 

"What doth he say, O watcher on the tower? 
Is he a prophet 1 Doth the dawning hour 



THE WATCHER ON THE TOWER. i 

Inspire his music? Is his chant sublime, 
Fill'd with the glories of the Future time V 9 

" He prophesies ; — his heart is full ; — his lay 
Tells of the brightness of a peaceful day ; 
A day not cloudless, nor devoid of storm, 
But sunny for the most, and clear and warm." 

" We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower, 
For all thou tellest. Sings he of an hour 
When Error shall decay, and Truth grow strong, 
And Right shall rule supreme and vanquish Wrong V 

"He sings of brotherhood, and joy, and peace, 
Of days when jealousies and hate shall cease : 
When war shall die, and man's progressive mind 
Soar as unfetter'd as its God design'd." 

" Well done ! thou watcher on the lonely tower ! 
Is the day breaking ? dawns the happy hour 1 
We pine to see it : — tell us, yet again, 
If the broad daylight breaks upon the plain ? " 

" It breaks — it comes — the misty shadows fly : — 
A rosy radiance gleams upon the sky ; 
The mountain-tops reflect it calm and clear ; 
The plain is yet in shade, but day is near." 



b2 



VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



CLEAE THE WAY. 

Men of thought ! be up, arid stirring 

Night and day : 
Sow the seed — withdraw the curtain — 

Clear the way! 
Men of action, aid and cheer them, 

As ye may ! 
There's a fount about to stream, 
There's a light about to beam, 
There's a warmth about to glow, 
There 's a flower about to blow ; 
There's a midnight blackness changing 

Into gray; 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way ! 

Once the welcome light has broken, 

"Who shall say 
What the unimagined glories 

Of the day ? 
What the evil that shall perish 

In its ray ? 
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen ; 
Aid it, hopes of honest men ; 
Aid it, paper — aid it, type — 
Aid it, for the hour is ripe, 



CLEAR THE WAY. 

And our earnest must not slacken 

Into play. 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way ! 

Lo ! a cloud 's about to vanish 

From the day ; 
And a brazen wrong to crumble 

Into clay. 
Lo ! the right 's about to conquer 

Clear the way ! 
With '"the Right shall many more 
Enter smiling at the door ; 
With Ine giant Wrong^shall fall 
Many others, great and small, 
That for ages long have held us 

For their prey. 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way ! 



~oC\SX£,*30- 



VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE GOOD TIME COMING. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
We may not live to see the day, 
But earth shall glisten in the ray 

Of the good time coming. 
Cannon-balls may aid the truth, 

But thought 's a weapon stronger ; 
We '11 win our battle by its aid ; — 

Wait a little longer. 



There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
The pen shall supersede the sword, 
And Bight, not Might, shall be the lord 

In the good time coming. 
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind, 

And be acknowledged stronger; 
The proper impulse has been given ; — 

Wait a little longer. 



There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
War in all men's eyes shall be 
A monster of iniquity 

In the good time coming. 



THE GOOD TIME COMING. 

Nations shall not quarrel then, 
To prove which is the stronger ; 

Nor slaughter men for glory's sake ;— 
Wait a little longer. 

There's a good time comiog, boys, 

A good time coming : 
Hateful rivalries of creed 
Shall not make their martyrs bleed 

In the good time coming. 
Religion shall be shorn of pride, 

And nourish all the stronger ; 
And Charity shall trim her lamp j — 

Wait a little longer. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
And a poor man's family 
Shall not be his misery 

In the good time coming. 
Every child shall be a help, 

To make his right arm stronger ; 
The happier he the more he has ; — 

Wait a little longer. 



There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
Little children shall not toil, 
Under, or above the soil, 

In the good time coming ; 



VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

But shall play in healthful fields 
Till limbs and mind grow stronger ; 

And every one shall read and write ; — 
Wait a little longer. 



There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
The people shall be temperate, 
And shall love instead of hate, 

In the good time coming. 
They shall use, and not abuse, 

And make all virtue stronger. 
The reformation has begun ; — 

Wait a little longer. 

There's a good time coming, boys, 

A good time coming : 
Let us aid it all we can, 
Every woman, every man, 

The good time coming. 
Smallest helps, if rightly given, 

Make the impulse stronger ; 
'Twill be strong enough one day ;— 

Wait a little longer. 



>>SKc 



THE WANTS OF THE PEOPLE. 
1846. 

What do we want? Oar daily bread ; 

Leave to earn it by our skill ; 
Leave to labour freely for it, 

Leave to buy it where we will : 
For 'tis bard upon the many — 

Hard, unpitied by the few, 
To starve and die for want of work, 

Or live half-starved with work to do. 

What do we want 1 Our daily bread ; 

Fair reward for labour done ; 
Daily bread for wives and children ; 

All our wants are merged in one. 
"When the fierce fiend Hunger grips us, 

Evil fancies clog our brains, 
Vengeance settles on our hearts, 

And Frenzy gallops through our veins. 

What do we want 1 Our daily bread ; 

Give us that ; all else will come — 
Self-respect and self-denial, 

And the happiness of home ; 



10 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Kindly feelings, education, 

Liberty for act and thought ; 

And surety that, whate'er befall, 

Our children shall be fed and taught. 

What do we want ? Our daily bread ; 

Give us that for willing toil : 
Make us sharers in the plenty 

God has shower'd upon the soil ; 
And we'll nurse our better natures 

With bold hearts and judgment strong, 
To do as much as men can do 

To keep the world from going wrong. 

What do we want ? Our daily bread, 

And trade untrammell'd as the wind ; 
And from our ranks shall spirits start, 

To aid the progress of mankind. 
Sages, poets, mechanicians, 

Mighty thinkers, shall arise, 
To take their share of loftier work, 

And teach, exalt; and ciyilize. 

What do we want ? Our daily bread : — 

Grant it : — make our efforts free ; 
Let us work and let us prosper; 

You shall prosper more than we ; 
And the humblest homes of England 

Shall, in proper time, give birth 
To better men than we have been, 

To live upon a better earth. 



11 



THE THEEE PREACHEBS. 

There are three preachers, ever preaching, 

Fill'd with eloquence and power : — 
One is old, with locks of white, 
Skinny as an anchorite ; 

And he preaches every hour 
With a shrill fanatic voice, 

And a bigot's fiery scorn : — 
" Backward 1 ye presumptuous nations ; 

Man to misery is born ! 
Born to drudge, and sweat, and suffer — 

Born to labour and to pray; 
Backward ! ye presumptuous nations — 

Back ! — be humble and obey J" 

The second is a milder preacher ; 

Soft he talks as if he sung; 
Sleek and slothful is his look, 
And his words, as from a book, 

Issue glibly from his tongue. 
"With an air of self- content, 

High he lifts his fair white hands : 
" Stand ye still ! ye restless nations ; 

And be happy, all ye lands ! 
Fate is law, and law is perfect ; 

If ye meddle, ye will mar ; 
Change is rash, and ever was so : 

We are happy as we are/' 



12 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Mightier is the younger preacher, 

Genius flashes from his eyes ; 
And the crowds who hear his voice, 
Give hirn, while their souls rejoice, 

Throbbing bosoms for replies. 
Awed they listen, yet elated, 

While his stirring accents fall : — 
" Forward ! ye deluded nations, 

Progress is the rule of all : 
Man was made for healthful effort ; 

Tyranny has crush'd him long ; 
He shall march from good to better. 

And do battle with the wrong. 

" Standing still is childish lolly, 

Going backward is a crime : 
None should patiently endure 
Any ill that he can cure ; 

Onward ! keep the march of Time. 
Onward ! while a wrong remains 

To be conquer'd by the right ; 
While Oppression lifts a finger 

To affront us by his might ; 
While an error clouds the reason 

Of the universal heart, 
Or a slave awaits his freedom, 

Action is the wise man's part. 

" Lo ! the world is rich in blessings : 
Earth and Ocean, flame and wind, 
Have unnumber'd secrets still, 
To be ransack'd when you will, 
For the service of mankind ; 



THE THREE PREACHERS. 13 

Science is a child as yet, 

And her power and scope shall grow, 
And her triumphs in the future 

Shall diminish toil and woe ; 
Shall extend the bounds of pleasure 

With an ever-widening ken, 
And of woods and wildernesses 

Make the homes of happy men. 

" Onward ! — there are ills to conquer, 

Daily wickedness is wrought, 
Tyranny is swoln with Pride, 
Bigotry is deified, 

Error intertwined with Thought. 
Vice and Misery ramp and crawl ; — 

Hoot them out, their day has pass'd; 
Goodness is alone immortal ; 

Evil was not made to last : 
Onward ! and all Earth shall aid us 

Ere our peaceful flag be furl'd." — 
And the preaching of this preacher 

Stirs the pulses of the world. 



14 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



OLD OPINIONS. 

Once we thought that Power Eternal 

Had decreed the woes of man ; 
That the human heart was wicked 

Since its pulses first began ; 
That the earth was but a prison, 

Dark and joyless at the best, 
And that men were born for evil, 

And imbibed it from the breast ; 
That 'twas vain to think of urging 

Any earthly progress on. 
Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone ! get you gone I 

Once we thought all human sorrows 

Were predestined to endure ; 
That, as man had never made them, 

Men were impotent to cure ; 
That the few were borne superior, 

Though the many might rebel; — 
Those to sit at Nature's table, 

These to pick the crumbs that fell ; 
Those to live upon the fatness, 

These the starvelings, lank and wan. 
Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone I get you gone ! 



' OLD OPINIONS, 15 

Once we thought that holy Freedom 

Was a cursed and tainted thing ; 
Foe of Peace, and Law, and Virtue ; 

Foe of Magistrate and King ; 
That all vile degraded passion 

Ever folio w'd in her path ; 
Lust and Plunder, War and Rapine, 

Tears, and Anarchy, and Wrath ; 
That the angel was a cruel, 

Haughty, blood-stain'd Amazon. 
Old opinions I rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone ! get you gone I 



Once we thought it right to foster 

Local jealousies and pride ; 
Right to hate another nation 

Parted from us by a tide ; 
Right to go to war for glory, 

Or extension of domain ; 
Right, through fear of foreign rivals, 

To refuse the needful grain ; 
Right to bar it out till Famine 

Drew the bolt with fingers wan. 
Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone ! get you gone I 



Once we thought that Education 
Was a luxury for the few ; 

That to give it to the many 
Was to give it scope undue : 



16 VOICES FEOM THE CROWD. 

That 'twas foolish to imagine 

It could be as free as air, 
Common as the glorious sunshine 

To the child of want and care : 
That the poor man, educated, 

Quarrell'd with his toil anon. 
Old opinions I rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone I get you gone I 

Old opinions, rags and tatters ; 

Ye are worn ; — ah, quite threadbare I 
We must cast you off for ever j — 

We are wiser than we were : 
Never fitting, always cramping, 

Letting in the wind and sleet, 
Chilling us with rheums and agues, 

Or inflaming us with heat. 
We have found a mental raiment 

Purer, whiter, to put on. 
Old opinions I rags and tatters ! 

Get you gone ! get you gone ! 



^-^s^^^S>^^^> 



17 



DAILY WOEK. 

1846. 

Who lags for dread of daily work, 
And his appointed task would shirk, 
Commits a folly and a crime ; 

A soulless slave — a paltry knave— 
A clog upon the wheels of Time. 
With work to do, and store of health, 
The man's unworthy to be free, 

Who will not give, that he may live, 
His daily toil for daily fee. 

No ! Let us work ! We only ask 
Heward proportion'd to our task :— 
We have no quarrel with the great ; 

No feud with rank — with mill or bank — 
No envy of a lord's estate. 
If we can earn sufficient store 
To satisfy our daily need ; 

And can retain, for age and pain, 
A fraction, we are rich indeed. 

No dread of toil have we or ours ; 

We know our worth, and weigh our powers ; 

The more we work the more we win : 
Success to Trade ! Success to Spade ! 

And to the corn that 's coming in ! 



18 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

And joy to him, who o'er his task 
Remembers toil is Nature's plan ; 

Who, working, thinks — and never sinks 
His independence as a man. 

Who only asks for humblest; wealth, 
Enough for competence and health ; 
And leisure, when his work is done, 

To read his book by chimney-nook, 
Or stroll at setting of the sun : 
Who toils, as every man should toil, 
For fair reward, erect and free. 

These are the men — the best of men — 
These are the men we mean to be ! 



g»v3 ^g ^L""o 



19 



AN EMIGRANT'S BLESSING. 

Fakewell, England ! blessings on thee, 

Stern and niggard as thou art ; 
Harshly, Mother, thou hast used me, 
And my bread thou hast refused me ; 

But 'tis agony to part. 
'Twill pass over ; for I would not 

Bear again what I could tell — 
Half the ills that I have suffer' d — 

Though I loved thee twice as well. 
So — my blessings on thee, England, 

And a long and last farewell ! 

Other regions will provide me 

Independence for my age, 
Becoinpense for hard exertion — 
For my children, the reversion 

Of a goodly heritage. 
England — this thou couldst not give me ; 

England, pamperer of squires, 
Landlord-ridden, pride-encumber' d, 

Quencher of the poor man's fires ; — 
But, farewell ! My blessing on thee ; 

Thou art country of my sires. 

Though I love, I'm glad to fly thee ; 

Who would live in hopeless toil, 
Evil-steep'd and ill-exampled, 
Press'd and jostled, crush'd and trampled, 

Interloper on the soil — 
c 2 



20 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

If there were one other country 
Where an honest man might go, 

"Winning corn-fields from the forest — 
All his own, too — blow by blow % 

Farewell, England — I regret thee, 
But my tears refuse to flow. 

Haply o'er the Southern ocean 

I shall do my part, to rear 
A new nation, Saxon-blooded, 
Which, with plenty crown'd and studded, 

To its happy children dear, 
Shall eclipse thy fame, O England ; 

Taught and warn'd alike by thee ; — 
Mightier with unshackled commerce, 

Mightier in her men more free, 
Mightier in her virgin vigour, 

And her just equality. 

But farewell. My blessing on thee ; 

Never, till my latest day, 
Shall my memory cease to ponder 
On thy fate, where'er I wander j— 

Never shall I cease to pray 
That the many may be happy; 

That the few their pride may quell ; 
That thou mayst in peaceful progress 

All thy misery dispel ; — 
Queen of nations : once their model — 

God be with thee ! Fare-thee-well i 



21 



RAILWAYS. 

"No poetry in Railways!" foolish thought 
Of a dull brain, to no fine music wrought. 
By mammon dazzled, though the people prize 
The gold alone, yet shall not we despise 
The triumphs of our time, or fail to see 
Of pregnant mind the fruitful progeny 
Ushering the daylight of the world's new morn. 
Look up, ye doubters, be no more forlorn ! — 
Smooth your rough brows, ye little wise.: rejoice, 
Ye who despond: and with exulting voice 
Salute, ye earnest spirits of our time, 
The young Improvement ripening to her prime, 
Who, in the fulness of her genial youth, 
Prepares the way for Liberty and Truth, 
And breaks the barriers that, since earth began, 
Have made mankind the enemy of man. 

Lay down your rails, ye nations, near and far — 
Yoke your full trains to Steam's triumphal car.; 
Link town to town; unite in iron bands 
The long-estranged and oft-embattled lands. 
Peace, mild-eyed seraph — Knowledge, light divine, 
Shall send their messengers by every line. 
Men, join'd in amity, shall wonder long 
That Hate had power to lead their fathers wrong; 
Or that false Glory lured their hearts astray, 
And made it virtuous and sublime to slay. 



22 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Blessings on science! When the earth seem'd old, 
When Faith grew doting, and the Reason cold, 
'Twas she discover'd that the world was young, 
And taught a language to its lisping tongue: 
'Twas she disclosed a future to its view, 
And made old knowledge pale before the new. 

Blessings on Science! In her dawning hour 
Faith knit her brow, alarm'd for ancient power; 
Then look'd again upon her face sincere, 
Held out her hand, and hail'd her — Sister dear; 
And Reason, free as eagle on the wind, 
Swoop'd o'er the fallow meadows of the mind, 
And, clear of vision, saw what seed would grow 
On the hill-slopes, or in the vales below; 
What in the sunny South, or nipping Nord, 
And from her talons dropp'd it as she soar'd. 

Blessings on Science, and her handmaid Steam! 
They make Utopia only half a dream; 
And show the fervent, of capacious souls, 
Who watch the ball of Progress as it rolls, 
That all as yet completed, or begun, 
Is but the dawning that precedes the sun. 



23 



THE FERMENTATION. 

Lonely sitting, deeply musing, 

On a still and starry night, 
Full of fancies, when my glances 
Turn'd upon those far romances 

Scatter'd o'er the Infinite; 
On a sudden, broke upon me 

Murmurs, rumours, quick and loud, 
And, half-waking, I discover'd 

An innumerable crowd. 



'Mid the uproar of their voices 

Scarcely could I hear a word; 
There was rushing, there was crushing, 
And a sound like music gushing, 

And a roar like forests stirr'd 
By a fierce wind passing o'er them: — 

And a voice came now and then, 
Louder than them all, exclaiming, 

"Give us Justice! we are men!" 



And the longer that I listen'd, 

More distinctly could I hear, 

'Mid the poising of the voicing, 

Sounds of sorrow and rejoicing, 

Utterance of Hope and Fear; 



24 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

And a clash of disputation, 

And of words at random cast — 

Truths and Errors intermingling, 
Of the present and the past. 



Some where shouting that Oppression 

Held their consciences in thrall; 
Some were crying, "Men are dying, 
Hunger-smit, and none supplying 

Bread, the birthright of us all." 
Some exclaim'd that Wealth was haughty, 

Harsh, and callous to the poor; — 
Others cried, the poor were vicious, 

Idle, thankless, insecure. 



Some, with voice of indignation, 

Told the story of their wrongs, 
Full of dolour — life-controller — 
That for difference of colour 

They were sold like cattle-throngs. 
Others, pallid, weak, and shivering, 

Said that laws were surely bad, 
When the willing hand was idle, 

And the cheeks of Toil were sad. 



"Give us freedom for the conscience!" 
"Equal rights!"— "Unfetter'd Mind!" 

" Education ! " — " Compensation !" 

"Justice for a mighty nation!" 

"Progress!" — "Peace with all mankind!" 



THE FERMENTATION. 25 

"Let us labour!" — "Give us churches!" 
"Give us Corn where'er it grow!" 

These, and other cries, around me 
Surged incessant, loud or low. 



Old opinions jarr'd with new ones; 

New ones jostled with the old; 
In such Babel, few were able 
To distinguish truth from fable, 

In the tale their neighbours told, 
But one voice above all others 

Sounded like the voice of ten, 
Clear, sonorous., and persuasive : — 

"Give us Justice! we are men!" 



And I said, "Oh Sovereign Beason, 

Sire of Beace and Liberty! 
Aid for ever their endeavour: — 
Boldly let them still assever 

All the rights they claim in thee. 
Aid the mighty Fermentation 

Till it purifies at last, 
And the Future of the people 

Is made brighter than the Fast." 



" DOC* 



26 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE POOR MAN'S SUNDAY WALK. 

The morning of our rest has come, 

The sun is shining clear; 
I see it on the steeple-top; 

Put on your shawl, my dear, 
And let us leave the smoky town, 

The dense and stagnant lane, 
And take our children by the hand 

To see the fields again. 
I've pined for air the live-long week; 

For the smell of new-mown hay; 
For a pleasant, quiet, country walk, 

On a sunny Sabbath-day. 

Our parish church is cold and damp; 

I need the air and sun; 
We'll sit together on the grass, 

And see the children run. 
We'll watch them gathering buttercups, 

Or cowslips in the dell, 
Or listen to the cheerful sounds 

Of the far-off village bell; 
And thank our God with grateful hearts, 

Though in the fields we pray; 
And bless the healthful breeze of heaven, 

On a sunny Sabbath-day. 



THE POOR MAN'S SUNDAY WALK. 27 

I'm weary of the stifling room 

Where all the week we're pent, — 
Of the alley fill'd with wretched life, 

And odours pestilent ; 
And long once more to see the fields, 

And the grazing sheep and beeves; 
To hear the lark amid the clouds, 

And the wind among the leaves; 
And all the sounds that glad the air 

On green hills far away — 
The sounds that breathe of Peace and Love, 

On a sunny Sabbath-day. 



For somehow, though they call it wrong, 

In church I cannot kneel 
With half the natural thankfulness 

And piety I feel, 
When out, on such a day as this, 

I lie upon the sod, 
And think that every leaf and flower 

Is grateful to its God : 
That I, who feel the blessing more, 

Should thank Him more than they 
That I can elevate my soul 

On a sunny Sabbath-day. 



Put on your shawl, and let us go; — 

For one day let us think 
Of something else than daily care, 

Of toil, and meat, and drink : 



28 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

For one day let the children sport 

And feel their limbs their own; 
For one day let ns quite forget 

The grief that we have known : — 
Let us forget that we are poor; 

And, basking in the ray, 
Thank God that we can still enjoy 

A sunny Sabbath-day. 



29 



A WELCOME TO LOUIS PHILIPPE. 
March, 1848. 

We do not cheer thee, faithless king, 

Nor shout before thee now; 
We have no reverence for a thing 

So false of heart as thou : 
We form no crowds to welcome thee, 

And yet we cannot hate — 
Though parricide of liberty — 

An old man desolate. 

When, in such sudden dark eclipse, 

We see thine overthrow; 
The hisses die upon our lips, 

We turn and let thee go. 
Poor, weak, denuded royalty, 

So abject, so forlorn, 
The greatness of thy misery 

Shall shield thee from our scorn. 

We saw thee yesterday elate 

In majesty and pride, 
Thy flowing wealth, thy gorgeous state, 

Thy power half deified. 
Based on the faults of humankind 

We saw thy meshes lurk, 
And constant Fortune's favouring wind 

Still waft thee tools to work. 



30 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

We saw thee building, building up 

Thy pomps before our eyes, 
And ever in thy flowing cup 

The sparkling bubbles rise : — 
Alliance, worship, all were thine, 

And, spectacle unmeet, 
Ev'n genius, drunk with bribery's wine, 

Lay grovelling at thy feet. 

When earnest men affirm' d the right, 

And ask'd the judging Heaven, 
If ever, since the birth of light, 

Had fraud and falsehood thriven, 
Our fingers pointed with mistrust 

To thee as our reply — 
A living mockery of the just, 

That gave their truth the lie. 

All this thou wert but yestermorn — 

Thy fall is freedom's birth; 
To-day thou art a mark for scorn, 

A vagrant on the earth. 
A truth pervading all the lands 

Inspired the people's heart, 
It throbb'd — it beat — it nerved their hands — 

It made thee what thou art. 

Lo, like a coward, self-accused, 

We saw thee skulk and fly, 
And hug a life that none refused, 

For want of strength to die. 



A WELCOME TO LOUIS PHILIPPE. 31 

To 'scape th' imaginary chase 

That made thy soul afraid, 
We saw thy shifts, thy shaven face, 

Thy piteous masquerade. 

We blush'd, we groan d, to see thee seek 

Mean safety in disguise, 
And, like a knavish bankrupt, sneak 

From sight of honest eyes. 
Forlorn old man ! our hate expires 

At spectacle like this ; — 
Our pity kindles all its fires — 

We have not heart to hiss. 

Live on — thou hast not lived in vain ! 

A mighty truth uprears 
Its radiant forehead o'er thy reign, 

And lights the coming years : 
Though specious Tyranny be strong 

Humanity is true, 
And Empire based upon a wrong 

Is rotten through and through. 

Though falsehoods into system wrought, 
Condensed into a plan, 

May stand awhile, their power is nought- 
There is a God in man. 

His revolutions speak in ours, 
And make His justice plain — 

Old man forlorn, live out thine hours, 
Thou hast not lived in vain. 



.52 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE DEEAM OF THE EEVELLEE. 

Around the board the guests were met, the lights 

above them beaming, 
And in their cups, replenish'd oft, the ruddy wine 

was streaming ; 
Their cheeks were flush'd, their eyes were bright, 

their hearts with pleasure bounded, 
The song was sung, the toast was given, and loud 

the revel sounded. 
I drain'd a goblet with the rest, „*nd cried, "Away 

with sorrow ! 
Let us be happy for to-day; what care we for to- 
morrow?" 
But as I spoke, my sight grew dim, and slumber 

deep came o'er me, 
And, 'mid the whirl of mingling tongues, this vision 

pass'd before me. 

Methought I saw a demon rise : he held a mighty 

bicker, 
Whose burnish'd sides ran brimming o'er with floods 

of burning liquor, 
Around him press'd a clamorous crowd, to taste this 

liquour, greedy, 
But chiefly came the poor and sad, the suffering and 

the needy ; 



THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER. 33 

All those oppress'd by grief or debt, the dissolute, 
the lazy, 

Blear-eyed old men and reckless youths, and palsied 
women crazy ; 

"Give, give!" they cried, "Give, give us drink, to 
drown all thought of sorrow ; 

If we are happy for to-day, what care we for to- 
morrow ? " 



The first drop warm'd their shivering skins, and 

drove away their sadness ; 
The second lit their sunken eyes, and fill'd their 

souls with gladness ; 
The third drop made them shout and roar, and play 

each furious antic ; 
The fourth drop boil'd their very blood ; and the 

fifth drop drove them frantic. — 
" Drink ! " said the Demon, " Drink your fill ! drink 

of these waters mellow ; — 
They'll make your eye-balls sear and dull, and turn 

your white skins yellow ; 
They'll fill your homes with care and grief, and 

clothe your backs with tatters ; 
They '11 fill your hearts with evil thoughts ; but never 

mind 1 — what matters ? 



" Though virtue sink, and reason fail, and social ties 

dissever, 
I'll be your friend in hour of need, and find you 

homes for ever ; 

D 



34 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

For I have built three mansions high, three strong 
and goodly houses, 

To lodge at last each jolly soul who all his life 
carouses. — 

The first, it is a spacious house, to all but sots 
appalling, 

Where, by the parish bounty fed, vile, in the sun- 
shine crawling, 

T3ie worn-out drunkard ends his days, and eats the 
dole of others, 

A plague and burthen to himself, an eyesore to his 
brothers. 

"The second is a lazarhouse, rank, fetid, and unholy; 
Where, smitten by diseases foul and hopeless melan- 
choly, 
The victims of potations deep pine on the couch of 

sadness, 
Some calling Death to end their pain ; and some 

imploring Madness. 
The third and last is black and high, the abode of 

guilt and anguish, 
And full of dungeons deep and fast, where death- 

doom'd felons languish ; 
So drain the cup, and drain again ! One of my 

goodly houses 
Shall lodge at last each jolly soul who to the dregs 

carouses ! " 

But well he knew — that Demon old — how vain was 

all his preaching, 
The rasped crew that round him flock 5 d were heed- 

less of his teaching ; 



THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER. 35 

Even as they heard his fearful words, they cried, 

with shouts of laughter, — 
'•' Out on the fool who mars to-day with thoughts of 

an hereafter ! 
We care not for thy houses three ; we live but for 

the present ; 
And merry will we make it yet, and quaff our 

bumpers pleasant." 
Loud laugh'd the fiend to hear them speak, and, 

lifting high his bicker, 
"Body and soul are mine!" said he j "I'll have them 

both for liquor." 



36 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE POET AND THE POLITICAL ECONOMIST. 

THE POLITICAL ECONOMIST. 

Prithee, Poet, why this spinning, 
Spinning verses all the day 1 

Vain and idle thy vocation, — 

Thy art useless to the nation, 
In thy labour and thy play. 

Little doth the world esteem thee, 

And it takes thee at thy worth ; 
Loftiest rhyme that e'er was fashion'd, 
Sounding, gorgeous, or impassion'd, 
Is a drug upon the earth. 

Go — and be a cotton-spinner; 

Put thy hand upon the spade ; 
Weave a basket out of willow; 
Dig the mine, or sail the billow — 

Anything but such a trade. 

THE POET. 

Why thy scorn, O man of logic ? 

Speak of that within thy ken : 
I despise thee not ; — thy labours, 
If they make us better neighbours, 

Are not valueless to men. 



THE POET AND THE POLITICAL ECONOMIST. 37 

Highly all the world esteems thee, 

And a poet may declare, 
That the wise should place reliance 
On the efforts of thy science 

To diminish human care. 



Bring thy hidden truths to daylight, 

And I'll ne'er complain of thee. 
Dull thou'rt call'd — and dulness cumbers 
Yet there 's wisdom in thy numbers ; 
Leave my numbers unto me. 



Each of us fulfils a duty, 

And, though scorn'd, I'll cling to mine, 
With a passion ever growing, 
In my heart, to overflowing ■ — 

Cling thou with as much to thine. 



Thou'rt a preacher ; Tm a prophet. 

Thou discoursest to thy time ; 
/ discourse to generations, 
And the thoughts of unborn nations 

Shall be fashion'd by my rhyme. 



Thou, to dubious politicians, 

Staid and passionless and slow, 
Givest pros and cons with candour, 
Bland and patient, ever blander 
As thy trim deductions flow. 



38 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

/ send forth electric flashes 

To the bosom of the crowd ; 
Rule its pulses, cheer its sadness, 
Make it throb and pant with gladness, 
Till it answers me aloud. 



Not for me to linger idly, 

Gathering garlands by the way; 
Singing but of flowers and sunsets, 
Lovers' vows, or nightly onsets, 
Or of ladies fair as May. 



No ; the poet loves his calling ; 

Nature's lyre is all his own ; 
He can sweep its strings prophetic, 
Till the nations, sympathetic, 

Gather breathless to its tone. 



For he knows the People listen 
When a mighty spirit speaks, 
And that none can stir them duly 
But the man who loves them truly, 
And from them his impulse seeks. 



What they feel, but cannot utter ; 

What they hope for, day and night ; — 
These the words by which he fires them, 
Prompts them, leads them, and inspires them 

To do battle for the right. 



THE P0E5V AND THE POLITICAL ECONOMIST. 

These the words by which the many 

Cope for justice with the few ; — 
These their watchwords, when Oppression, 
Would resist the small cod cession, 
But a fraction of their due. 



These the poet, music-hearted, 

Blazons to the listening land, 
And for these all lands shall prize him, 
Though the foolish may despise him, 
Or the wise misunderstand. 



Go thy way, then, man of logic, 

In thy fashion, speak thy truth ; — 
Thou hast fix'd, and I have chosen ; — 
Thou shalt speak to blood that 's frozen, 
I to vigour and to youth. 



Haply we shall both be useful, 

And, perchance, more useful thou, 
If their full degree of merit 
To all other moods of spirit 
Thou wilt cheerfully allow. 



As for me, I fear no scorning, 

And shall speak with earnest mind 
What is in me ; — self- rewarded 
If I aid, though unregarded, 
The advancement of my kind. 



40 VOICES FR03I THE CROWD. 



TO A FEIEND AFEAID OF CRITICS. 

Afraid of critics ! an unworthy fear : 

Great minds must learn their greatness and be bold. 

Walk on thy way ; bring forth thine own true 

thought ; 
Love thy high calling only for itself, 
And find in working recompense for work, 
And Envy's shaft shall whizz at thee in vain. 
Despise not censure ; — weigh if it be just ; 
And if it be — amend, whate'er the thought 
Of him who cast it. Take the wise man's praise, 
And love thyself the more that thou couldst earn 
Meed so exalted ; but the blame of fools, 
Let it blow over like an idle whiff 
Of poisonous tobacco in the streets, 
Invasive of thy unoffending nose : — 
Their praise no better, only more perfumed. 

The Critics — let me paint them as they are. 
Some few I know, and love them from my soul ; 
Polish'd, acute, deep read ; of inborn taste 
Cultured into a virtue ; full of pith 
And kindly vigour, having won their spurs 
In the great rivalry of friendly mind, 
And generous to others, though unknown, 
Who would, having a thought, let all men know 
The new discovery. But these are rare ; 



TO A FRIEND AFRAID OF CRITICS. 41 

And if thou find one, take him to thy heart, 
And think his unbought praise both palm and crown, 
A thing worth living for, were nought beside. 
Fear thou no critic, if thou'rt true thyself; — 
And look for fame noiu if the wise approve, 
Or from a wiser jury yet unborn. 
The Poetaster may be harm'd enough, 
Bat Criticasters cannot crush a Bard. 

If to be famous be thy sole intent, 
And greatness be a mark beyond thy reach, 
Manage the critics, and thou 'It win the game; 
Invite them to thy board, and give them feasts, 
And foster them with unrelaxing care ; 
Aud they will praise thee in their partial sheets, 
And quite ignore the worth of better men. 
Bat if thou wilt not court them, let them go, 
And scorn the praise that sells itself for wine, 
Or tacks itself upon success alone, 
Hanging like spittle on a rich man's beard. 

One, if thou 'rt great, will cite from thy new book 
The tamest passage, — something that thy soul 
Revolts at, now the inspiration 's o'er, 
And would give all thou hast to blot from print 
And sink into oblivion ; — and will vaunt 
The thing as beautiful, transcendent, rare — 
The best thing thou hast done ! Another friend, 
"With finer sense, will praise thy greatest thought, 
Yet cavil at it ; putting in his " huts " 
And "yets" and little obvious hints, 
That though 'tis good, the critic could have made 



42 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

A work superior in its every part. 

Another, in a pert and savage mood, 

Without a reason, will condemn thee quite, 

Arid strive to quench thee in a paragraph. 

Another, with dishonest waggery, 

Will twist, misquote, and utterly pervert 

Thy thoughts and words ; and hug himself meanwhile 

In the delusion, pleasant to his soul, 

That thou art crush'd, and he a gentleman. 

Another, with a specious fair pretence, 
Immaculately wise, will skim thy book, 
And self-sufficient, from his desk look down 
With undisguised contempt on thee and thine ; 
And sneer and snarl thee, from his weekly court, 
From an idea, spawn of his conceit, 
That the best means to gain a great renown 
For wisdom is to sneer at all the world, 
With strong denial that a good exists ; — 
That all is bad, imperfect, feeble, stale, 
Except this critic, who outshines mankind. 

Another, with a foolish zeal, will prate 
Of thy great excellence, and on thy head 
Heap epithet on epithet of praise 
In terms preposterous, that thou wilt blush 
To be so smother'd with such fulsome lies. 
Another, calmer, with laudations thin, 
Unsavoury and weak, will make it seem 
That his good-nature, not thy merit, prompts 
The baseless adulation of his pen. 
Another, with a bull-dog's bark, will bay 



TO A FRIEXD AFRAID OF CRITICS. 43 

Foul names against thee for some fancied slight 
Which thou ne'er dream'dst of, and will damn thy 

work 
For spite against the worker ; while the next, 
Who thinks thy faith or politics a crime, 
Will bray displeasure from his monthly stall, 
And prove thee dunce, that disagreest with him. 

And, last of all, some solemn sage, whose nod 
Trimestrial awes a world of little wits, 
Will carefully avoid to name thy name, 
Although thy words are in the mouths of men, 
And thy ideas in their inmost hearts, 
Moulding events, and fashioning thy time 
To nobler efforts. — Little matters it ! 
Whate'er thou art, thy value will appear. 
If thou art bad, no praise will buoy thee up ; 
If thou art good, no censure weigh thee down, 
!Nor silence nor neglect prevent thy fame. 
So fear not thou the critics ! Speak thy thought ; 
And, if thou 'rt worthy, in the people's love 
Thy name shall live, while lasts thy mother tongue! 



44 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



BRITISH FREEDOM. 



We want no flag, no flaunting rag, 

For Liberty to fight ; 
We want no blaze of murderous guns, 

To struggle for the right. 
Our spears and swords are printed words, 

The mind our battle-plain ; 
We've won such victories before, 

And so we shall again. 

II. 

We love no triumphs sprung of force — 

They stain her brightest cause : 
'Tis not in blood that Liberty 

Inscribes her civil laws. 
She writes them on the people's heart 

In language clear and plain; 
True thoughts have moved the world before, 

And so they shall again. 

in. 

We yield to none in earnest love 

Of Freedom's cause sublime; 
We join the cry, "Fraternity!" 

We keen the inarch of Time. 



BRITISH FREEDOM. 45 

And yet we grasp nor pike nor spear, 

Our victories to obtain ; 
We've won without their aid before, 

And so we shall again. 

IV. 

We want no aid of barricade 

To show a front to wrong; 
We have a citadel in truth, 

More durable and strong. 
Calm words, great thoughts, unflinching faith, 

Have never striv'n in vain ; 
They've won our battles many a time, 

And so they shall 



Y. 

Peace, Progress, Knowledge, Brotherhood- 

The ignorant may sneer, 
The bad deny ; but we rely 

To see their triumph near. 
No widows' groans shall load our cause, 

Nor blood of brethren stain; 
We've won without such aid before, 

And so we shall again. 



46 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE DYING MOTHER. 

The angels call me — lo, I come ! 
Children, I die ! I'm going home ! 
All pangs, save one, have pass'd away, 
All griefs and sufferings of clay, 
Except this lingering fond distress, 
That yields not to forgetfulness — 
The last affection of my heart, 
The pain, the grief, that we must part. 

No more ! a hope to sorrow given 
Says earthly love may bloom in heaven, 
May soar, if pure, to God's right hand : 
I go, I seek the happy land. 
Ah ! no, not yet ; the sunshine fair 
.Revives me for a while : the air 
Blows calm and cool. Oh, living breath ! 
It gives me strength to look on death. 

It gives me courage to implore, 
By all the love you ever bore, — 
A foolish, fond, but last request, — 
That you will choose my place of rest, 
In the green fields, beneath a tree. 
Where west winds linger lovingly, 



THE DYING MOTHEK. 47 

Where dews may drop and buds may bloom, 
And moonlight sleep upon my tomb. 

I would not that my bones should lie 
(Forgive the earthly vanity) 
In rotting churchyards of the town, 
Dishonour'd, public, trodden down, 
To be disturb'd, untomb'd, exposed, 
The secrets of my grave disclosed, 
Ere kind decay had blurr'd the line 
Of form and feature that were mine. 

Although no pangs can touch our dust, 
And death is stingless on the just, 
Yet grant my prayer, and lay my clod 
Far from the town, beneath the sod. 
Who strews a flower, or drops a tear, 
Or sighs when passing crowds may hear — 
Or watches fondly over graves 
Where busy Traffic works her slaves? 

Husband, I die — my peace is won ; 

I linger, but my race is run. 

Oh ! choose a grave where I may sleep, 

Untroubled, in a silence deep; 

Where thou, perchance, at evening's hour, 

Mayst o'er my headstone drop a flower ; 

And where, each sunny Sabbath-day, 

The children may come forth to pray. 

Farewell, the world ! Come — kiss nry lips ! 
My soul grows dark — 'tis life's eclipse. 



48 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Husband, farewell — I'm going hence — 
I loved thee — love thee — parting sense, 
Abide ! — and let my tongue bestow, 
A mother's blessing ere I go ! — 
The angels call me — lo, I come ! 
Children, I die ! I'm going home ! 



London, 1849. 



^c^q/^^XO^^ 



49 



FREEDOM AND LAW. 

Wildest wind that shakes the blossoms, 
Or on ocean chafes and swells, 

Blows not uncontrolFd and wanton, 
But as Law compels. 

Streams that wander and meander, 
Loitering in the meads to play. 

Or that burst in roaring torrents 
Into foam and spray; 

Avalanches, forest-crushing, 

Fires that rage in Etna's breast, 

Lava-floods and tides of ocean — 
All obey the same behest. 

Law releases, Law restrains them : — - 
Lo! the Moon, her forehead bent 

Earthward, makes her revolution, 
Docile, beauteous, and content. 

Lo ! the Earth, her mighty mistress, 
In her own appointed place, 

Yields, like her, sublime obedience 
To the Law that governs space. 

E 



50 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

And the godlike Sun, exhaling 
Light and Life from every pore, 

On his axis, law-directed, 
Wheels majestic evermore; 

Bearing with him to Orion 

All the worlds that round him shine, 
To complete the awful cycle 

Of a destiny divine. 

"While the Stars and Constellations, 

Glowing in eternal light, 
Teach the Majesty of Order, 

And that Law is Infinite. 



Is the immortal spirit freer, 
Mated with its mortal clod? 

Lo! it soars, and, faith-supported, 
Claims affinity with God. 

Proudly it disdains the shackles 
Of the frame to which it clings, 

And would fly to heights celestial 
Upon Love's angelic wings. 

But the hand of Law restrains it; 

Narrow is the widest span, 
Measured by the deeds or efforts 

Of the aspiring soul of man. 



FREEDOM AND LAW. 51 

Like the imprison'd lark, that carols 

To salute the dawning day, 
It can see the sky, and gather 

Hope and rapture from its ray. 

It can see the waving branches 

Of its long-lost happy bowers ; 
It can feel the heavenly breezes, 

And the scent of meadow flowers. 



But if it would strive to reach them, 
It is doom'd to fruitless pain, 

And with bleeding bosom struggles 
At its prison-doors in vain. 

If the mind be less entrammell'd, 
And is freed from sensual bound; 

Still the Law restrains and moulds it, 
And attracts it to the ground. 

Like the young rejoicing eaglet, 

Knowing nought of gyves and bars, 

It may imp its virgin pinions 
By a flight towards the stars; — 

High above the sterile Andes, 

Or the Himalayan snow, 
Breasting ether, robed in sunlight, 

Unimpeded it may go. 
e 2 



52 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

But a Law has placed its limits, 
And to pass them should it dare, 

Numbness falls upon its pinions, 
Death o'ercanopies the air. 

Such thy fate, terrestial Spirit ! — 
Such thy freedom ; — thou mayst soar 

To the empyrean summits, 

Where no mortal breathed before. 



But Infinitude surrounds thee; 

Nature stays thee in thy flight ; 
Thou must turn thee, or be stricken 

Powerless on thy topmost height. 

Thou must travel lower, lower, — 
Nearer to the earthly mould — 

Safer for thee — there to fashion 
New ideas out of old. 

There to judge of the unfathom'd, 
By the things within thy ken, 

Of the ways of God Eternal 
By the futile ways of men. 

Yet, oh Soul! there's Freedom for thee; 

Thou mayst win it; — not below; — 
Not on earth with mortal vesture, 

Where to love, to feel, to know, 



FREEDOM A2TD LAW. 53 

Is to suffer; but unfetter'd, 

Thou mayst spring to riper life, 

Purified from Hate and Evil, 
And Mortality and Strife. 

Death is gaoler; he'll release thee; 

Through his portals thou shalt see 
The perfection that awaits thee, 

If thou'rt worthy to be free. 

Be thou meek, to exaltation; — 

Death shall give thee wings to soar; 

Loving God, and knowing all things, 
Upwards springing evermore I 



54 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



TO IMPATIENT GENIUS. 

Painter, that with soul-creations 
Wouldst attain th' applause of nations, 
And deserve a name of glory- 
To be writ in future story, 

Work thy way. 
Live with Nature, love her truly, 
Wisely, wholly: — and so duly 

Bide thy day. 
With high thoughts thy mind adorning;, 
Heed no critic's shallow scorning, 

Nor at yelping curs repine : 
Every light must cast a shadow, 

So must thine. 

Sculptor, with ambition glowing, 
Steep thyself to overflowing 
In the majesty and greatness, 
Strength, and beauty, and sedateness 

Of th' antique : 
But forget not living Nature, 
Heavenly in its form and feature, 

For the Greek. 
Beauty is renew'd for ever :■ — 
Let its love support endeavour, 

Though neglect enwrap thee now— 
Work : — and men will find a laurel 

For thy brow. 



TO IMPATIENT GENIUS. 55 

Poet, singing in the earnest 

Love and Hope with which thou burnest, 

And upon a lofty summit 

Sounding Nature with the plummet 

Of thy song, — 
Grieve not if thy voice be chidden, 
And thy tuneful lustre hidden 

Under wrong. 
Scorn not Fame, but rise above it ; 
Truth rewards the minds that love it ; 
Like the planets shine and singj — ■ 
Noontide follows every morning, — 

Summer, spring. 

One and all, be up and doing; 
Glory needs incessant wooing; 
And if Faith — not mere ambition — 
Prompts you to a noble mission, 

You shall rise. 
But the acorn, small and flower-like, 
Must have time to flourish bower-like 

To the skies. 
Bide you yours : — of wealth not lustful ; 
Ever patient, calm, and trustful : 
Years shall magnify your bole, 
And produce immortal foliage 

Of the soul. 



5Q VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 

1846. 

Weary and sickening of the dull debate 

And clang of politics ; weary of hate 

Toss'd at our heads from o'er the Atlantic main. 

With foolish speeches; weary of the pain 

And sorrow, and calamity, and crime 

Of daily history told us in our time ; 

Weary of wrong that rear'd its hydra head 

And hiss'd from all its mouths; dispirited 

With rich man's apathy to poor men's hurt, 

And poor men's ignorance of their own desert ; 

And for a moment hopeless of mankind 

And that great cause, the nearest to my mind, 

Progress — the dream of poet and of sage — 

I lean'd back in my chair and dropp'd the page 

Diurnal, fill'd with all the misery, 

And fell asleep; if sleeping it could be 

When, in its natural sequence in the brain, 

Thought follow'd thought, more palpable and plain 

Than when I waked ; when words took music's voice, 

And all my being inly did rejoice ; 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 57 

And what I saw, I sang of at the time, 

With ease unparallel'd by waking rhyme, 

And to this tune, which, many a day since then, 

A haunting music has come back again. 

Oh the golden city, 

Shining far away! — 
"With its domes and steeples tall 
And the sunlight over all; 

With the waters of a bay 
Rippling gently at its feet, 
Dotted over with a fleet ; 
Oh the golden city — so beautiful to see ! 
It shall open wide its portals, 

And I'll tell you if it be 
The city of the happy, 

The city of the free. 

Oh the glorious city, 

Shining far away ! — 
In its boundaries every man 
Makes his happiness a plan, 

That he studies night and day, 
Till he thinks it not alone, 
Like his property, his own — 
Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see I — 
But spreads it round about him, 

Till all are bless' d as he ; 
His mind an inward sunshine, 

And bright eternally. 

Oh the splendid city, 
Gleaming far away! — 



58 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Every man, by Love possess'd, 
Has a priest within his breast, 

And, whene'er he kneels to pray, 
Never breathes a thought unkind 
Against men of other mind : 
Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see I- 
But knows that God Eternal 

Will shower all blessings free 
On hearts that live to love Him, 

And cling to Charity. 

Oh the gorgeous city, 

Shining far away ! — 
Where a Competence is bliss, 
And each man that lives has this 

Eor his labour of the day; 
A labour not too hard, 
And a bountiful reward : 
Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see !- 
Where mighty wheels creative 

.Revolve incessantly, 
And Science gains to cheer him 

A daily victory. 

Oh the glorious city, 

Shining far away ! — 
Neither Misery nor Crime, 
Nor the wrongs of ancient Time, 

Nor the Kingly lust of sway 
Ever come within its wall, 
To degrade or to enthrall : 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 59 

Oh the glorious city — so beautiful to see ! — 
But Peace, and Love, and Knowledge, 

The civilizing Three, 
Still prove by Good that has been 

The Better that may be. 

Thus dream'd I, to this rhythm, or something near, 

But far more copious, musical, and clear; 

And when I waken'd, still my fancy ran 

'Twas not all dream, and that large Hopes for man 

"Were not such idle visions as the wise, 

In days like ours, should heedlessly despise : 

I thought that Love might be Religion yet, 

Not form alone, but soul and substance met; 

The guide, the light, the glory of the mind, 

Th' electric link uniting all mankind ; 

That if men loved, and made their Love the Law, 

All else would follow — more than ever saw 

Poet or Prophet in the utmost light 

Of heavenly glory opening on his sight. 

But dream, or no dream, take it as it came : 

It gave me hope, — it may give you the same. 

And as bright Hopes make the Intention strong, 

Take heart with me, and muse upon my song. 



60 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE DEPOSITION OF KING CLOG. 

King Clog was a mighty monarch, 

He sat on his lofty seat, 
With his golden crown and his ermine-down, 

And his courtiers at his feet. 
His power seem'd firm as the mountains — 

Inert but strong was he ; 
And he ruled the land with a heavy hand 

And a placid tyranny. 
And whenever a boon was ask'd him, 

He stared with a calm amaze, 
And said, " Ye foolish people, 

Ye must stand on the ancient ways." 

And long o'er the suffering nations 

King Clog and his courtiers ruled, 
And men half-wise, who could use their eyes, 

And were taught, and train'd, and school'd, 
Conceived this ponderous monarch 

Was bountiful, wise, and good ; 
And held it just to kneel in the dust 

And smear him with gratitude. 
And whenever the people murmur'd, 

The king and his statesmen frown'd, 
But stoutly refused to aid them ; — 

And so the world went round. 



THE DEPOSITION OF KING CLOG. 61 

He was a drowsy monarch, 

They were a drowsy crew, 
And from hour to hour, in their pride of power, 

Duller and drowsier grew : 
But a cry for reformation, 

Which rose for evermore, 
Disturb' d their sleep with its mutterings deep, 

And stirr'd them to the core. 
"We will not change," said the courtiers, 

" For change is ever an ill ; 
We'll crush these restless people, 

If we cannot keep them still." 



But Clog, like all things mortal, 

Decay'd as he grew old, 
He loved to dose, in warm repose, 

High on his throne of gold. 
And the people saw his weakness, 

And shouted in his ear, 
"We've groan'd too long in sorrow and wrong 

Awake ! let the Bight appear ! " 
And the king, with eyes half-open'd, 

A lingering answer sent : 
"Let me alone, ye rabble — 

And toil — and be content ! " 



"We're weary of our bondage," 
Said they : " Oh, king, be just ! — 

We delve and spin, but cannot win 
Our raiment and our crust : 



62 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

We ask no boon from favour 

That Justice should not give ; 
From cradle to grave we groan and slave, 

And die that we may live." 
But Clog replied, hard-hearted, 

" Your sires were wise as you ; 
They never complain'd ; — poor wretches, 

Ye know not what ye do !" 



But still the people clamour' d, 

And the cry o'er the nations spread — 
" Freedom of speech, freedom to teach, 

Freedom to earn our bread ; 
These must we have, O monarch ! 

Whether you will or no ; — 
Too long we've pined, body and mind, 

In ignorance and woe." 
"Let me alone, I pray you," 

Said Clog, " nor vex my soul ; 
As the world has roll'd for ages, 

So must it ever roll." 



And he folded his arms on his bosom, 

And slept, and never heard 
The measured beat of the trampling feet, 

And the oft-repeated word 
That came from the solemn conclave 

Of the people, met to plan 
Some better laws, to aid the cause 

Of the happiness of man : 



THE DEPOSITION OF KING CLOG. 63 

Nor the voices loud resounding, 

Like waves upon the shore, 
That proclaim'd to the listening nations 

That Clog should rule no more. 

But Jog, the next successor, 

Who understood his time, 
Stepp'd on the throne : — " Father, begone ; 

To linger is a crime. 
Go to thy bed and slumber, 

And leave the world to me ; 
Thy mission 's done ; thy race is run — 

I'm ruler of the free." 
So Clog retired, obedient, 

And Jog, his son, was crown'd. 
We hope he'll govern better : — 

And so the world goes round. 



64 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



STREET COMPANIONS. 

Whene'er through Gray's Inn porch I stray, 
I meet a spirit by the way; 
He wanders with me all alone, 
And talks with me in under-tone. 



The crowd is busy seeking gold, 
It cannot see what I behold; 
I and the spirit pass along 
Unknown, unnoticed, in the throng. 



While on the grass the children run, 
And maids go loitering in the sun, 
I roam beneath the ancient trees, 
And talk with him of mysteries. 

The dull brick houses of the square, 
The bustle of the thoroughfare, 
The sounds, the sights, the crush of men, 
Are present but forgotten then. 

I see them, but I heed them not ; 
I hear, but silence clothes the spot ; 
All voices die upon my brain 
Except that spirit's in the lane. 



STREET COMPANIONS. G5 

He breathes to me his burning thought, 
He utters words with wisdom fraught, 
He tells me truly what I am — 
I walk with mighty Verulam. 

He goes with me through crowded ways, 
A friend and mentor in the maze, 
Through Chancery Lane to Lincoln's Inn, 
To Fleet Street, through the moil and din. 

I meet another spirit there, 
A blind old man with forehead fair, 
Who ever walks the right-hand side, 
Toward the fountain of St. Bride. 



Amid the peal of jangling bells, 
Or people's roar that falls and swells, 
The whirl of wheels and tramp of steeds, 
He talks to me of noble deeds. 



I hear his voice above the crush, 
As to and fro the people rush ; 
Benign and calm, upon his face 
Sits Melancholy, robed in grace. 

He hath no need of common eyes, 
Lie sees the fields of Paradise ; 
He sees and pictures unto mine 
A gorgeous vision, most divine. 

F 



66 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

He tells the story of the Fall, 
He names the fiend in battle-call, 
And shows my soul, in wonder dumb, 
Heaven, Earth, and Pandemonium. 

He tells of Lycidas the good, 
And the sweet lady in the wood, 
And teaches wisdom high and holy, 
In mirth and heavenly melancholy. 

And oftentimes, with courage high, 
He raises Freedom's rallying cry ; 
And, ancient leader of the van, 
Asserts the dignity of man — 

Asserts the rights with trumpet tongue, 
That Justice from Oppression wrung, 
And poet, patriot, statesman, sage, 
Guides by his own a future age. 

With such companions at my side 
I float on London's human tide ; 
An atom on its billows thrown, 
But lonely never, nor alone. 



67 



THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 

Late or early home returning, 
In the starlight or the rain, 
I beheld that lonely candle 
Shining from his window-pane. 
Ever o'er his tatter'd curtain, 
Nightly looking, I could scan, 
Aye inditing, 
Writing — writing, 
The pale figure of a man ; 
Still discern behind him fall 
The same shadow on the wall. 



Far beyond the murky midnight, 
By dim burning of my oil, 
Filling aye his rapid leaflets, 
I have watch'd him at his toil ; 
Watch'd his broad and seamy forehead, 
Watch'd his white industrious hand, 
r 2 



68 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Ever passing 

And repassing ; 

Watch'd and strove to understand 

What impell'd it — gold, or fame — 

Bread, or bubble of a name. 



Oft I've ask'd, debating vainly 

In the silence of my mind, 

What the services he render'd 

To his country or his kind ; 

Whether tones of ancient music, 

Or the sound of modern gong, 

Wisdom holy, 

Humours lowly, 

Sermon, essay, novel, song, 

Or philosophy sublime, 

Fill'd the measure of his time. 



No one sought him, no one knew him, 

Undistinguish'd was his name ; 

Never had his praise been utter'd 

By the oracles of fame. 

Scanty fare and decent raiment, 

Humble lodging, and a fire — 

These he sought for, 

These he wrought for, 

And he gain'd his meek desire ; 

Teaching men by written word — 

Clinging to a hope deferr'd. 



THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 69 

So he lived. At last I miss'd him ; 

Still might evening twilight fall, 

But no taper lit his lattice — 

Lay no shadow on his wall. 

In the winter of his seasons, 

In the midnight of his day, 

'Mid his writing, 

And inditing, 

Death had beckon'd him away, 

Ere the sentence he had plann'd 

Found completion at his hand. 



But this man, so old and nameless, 
Left behind him projects large, 
Schemes of progress undeveloped, 
Worthy of a nation's charge ; 
Noble fancies uncompleted, 
Germs of beauty im matured, 
Only needing 
Kindly feeding 

To have flourish'd and endured; 
Meet reward in golden store 
To have lived for evermore. 



Who shall tell what schemes majestic 
Perish in the active brain? 
What humanity is robb'd of, 
Ne'er to be restored again? 
What we lose, because we honour 



70 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Overmuch the mighty dead, 

And dispirit 

Living merit, 

Heaping scorn upon its head ? 

Or perchance, when kinder grown, 

Leaving it to die — alone ? 



— ^tf^&g^ — 



71 



MARY AND LADY MARY ; 

OR, 

NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS. 

The Lady Mary's placid eyes 
Beam with no hopes, no memories ; 
Beneath their lids no tear-drops flow, 
For Love or Pity, Joy or Woe. 
She never knows, too barren she, 
The fruitfulness of sympathy ; 
She never weeps for others' pain, 
Or smiles, except in her disdain. 

Her face is pallid as the pearl, 

Her hair is sleek, without a cnrl ; 

With finger-tip she condescends 

To touch the fingers of her friends, 

As if she fear'd their palms might brand 

Some moral stigma on her hand ; 

Her pulse is calm, milk-white her skin, 

She hath not blood enough to sin. 

A very pattern, sage and staid, 
Of all her sex — a model maid ; 
Clear star — bright paragon of men — 
She breaks no law of all the ten j 



72 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Pure to the sight as snow-peak'd hill — 
As inaccessible and chill ; 
In sunshine — but repelling heat — 
And freezing in her own conceit. 

If ever known to breathe a sigh, 
It w r as for lack of flattery. 
Though cold, insensible, and dull, 
Admirers call her beautiful ; 
She sucks their incense, breathes it, dotes 
On her own praise, that gently floats 
On Fashion's wave — and lies in wait 
To catch admirers of 'her state. 



In publish'd charities her name 
Stands foremost, for she buys her fame ; 
At church men see her thrice a week, 
In spirit proud, in aspect meek ; 
Wearing Devotion like a mask, 
So marble cold, that sinners ask, 
Beholding her at Mercy's throne, 
"Is this a woman or a stone?" 

But different, far, the little maid, 

That dwells unnoticed in the shade 

Of Lady Mary's pomp and power; 

A Mary, too, a simple flower, 

With face all health, with cheeks all smile, 

Undarken'd by one cloud of guile ; 

And ruddy lips that seem to say, 

"Come, kiss me, children, while ye may." 



MARY AND LADY MARY. 73 

A cordial hand, a chubby arm, 
And hazel eyes, large, soft, and warm ; 
Dark hair in curls, a snow-like bust, 
A look all innocence and trust, 
Lit up at times by sunny mirth, 
Like summer smiling on the earth ; 
A ringing laugh, whose every note 
Bursts in clear music from her throat. 

A painter's daughter — poor, perchance, 

But rich in native elegance ; 

God bless the maid — she may not be 

Without some touch of vanity. 

She twines red rosebuds in her hair, 

And smiles to know herself so fair ; 

And quite believes, like other belles. 

The pleasant tale her mirror tells. 

A very woman, full of tears, 
Hopes, blushes, tendernesses, fears, 
Griefs, laughter, kindness, joys and sighs, 
Loves, likings, friendships, sympathies; 
A heart to feel for every woe, 
And pity, if not dole, bestow ; 
A hand to give from scanty store, 
A look to wish the offering more. 

In artless faith and virtue strong, 
Too loving to do Love a wrong ; 
She takes delight in simple things, 
And in the sunshine works and sin^s. 



74 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Sweet bird ! so meekly innocent, 
The foulest hawk that ever rent 
A trusting heart, would gaze, and fly, 
And spare her in her purity. 

Take Lady Mary ye who will, 
Her woods, her castle on the hill, 
Her lands o'er half a county spread — 
And wither in her loveless bed ; 
But give me Mary, frank and free, 
Her beauty, grace, and modesty : 
I pass My Lady in the mart — 
I take the Woman with the heart. 



75 



ABOVE AND BELOW. 

Mighty river, oh, mighty river, 

Rolling in ebb and flow for ever, 

Through the city so vast and old ; 

Through massive bridges — by domes and spires, 

Crown'd with the smoke of a myriad fires ; — 

City of majesty, power, and gold ; — 

Thou lovest to float on thy waters dull 

The white-wing'd fleets so beautiful, 

And the lordly steamers speeding along, 

Wind defying, and swift and strong ; 

Thou bearest them all on thy motherly breast, 

Laden with riches, at Trade's behest — 

Bounteous Trade, whose wine and corn 

Stock the garner and fill the horn ; 

Who gives us Luxury, Joy, and Pleasure, 

Stintless, sumless, out of measure — 

Thou art a rich and a mighty river, 

Rolling in ebb and flow for ever. 

Doleful river, oh, doleful river, 

Pale on thy breast the moonbeams quiver, 

Through the city so drear and cold — 

City of sorrows hard to bear, 

Of guilt, injustice, and despair — - 

City of miseries untold ; — 



76 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Thou hidest below, in thy treacherous waters, 
The death-cold forms of Beauty's daughters ; 
The corses pale of the young and sad — 
Of the old whom sorrow has goaded mad — 
Mothers of babes that cannot know 
The sires that left them to their woe — 
Women forlorn, and men that run 
The race of passion, and die undone ; 
Thou takest them all to thy careless wave, 
Thou givest them all a ready grave ; 
Thou art a black and a doleful river, 
Rolling in ebb and now for ever. 

In ebb and flow for ever and ever — 

So rolls the world, thou murky river ! 

So rolls the tide, above and below: 

Above, the rower impels his boat ; 

Below, with the current the dead men float ! — 

The waves may smile in the sunny glow, 

While above, in the glitter, and pomp, and glare, 

The flags of the vessels flap the air ; 

But below, in the silent under-tide, 

The waters vomit the wretch that died. 

Above, the sound of the music swells, 

From the passing ship, from the city bells ; 

From below there cometh a gurgling breath, 

As the desperate diver yields to death : 

Above and below the waters go, 

Bearing their burden of Joy or Woe ; 

Rolling along, thou mighty river, 

In ebb and flow for ever and ever ! 



77 



JOHN LITTLEJOHN. 

John Littlejohn was stanch and strong, 
Upright and downright, scorning wrong ; 
He gave good weight, and paid his way, 
He thought for himself, and he said his say. 
"Whenever a rascal strove to pass, 
Instead of silver, money of brass, 
He took his hammer, and said, with a frown, 
" The coin is spurious, nail it down.'''' 

John Littlejohn was firm and true, 
You could not cheat him in "two and two;" 
When foolish arguers, might and main, 
Darken'd and twisted the clear and plain, 
He saw through the mazes of their speech 
The simple truth beyond their reach ; 
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown, 
" Your coin is spurious, nail it down." 

John Littlejohn maintain'd the Right, 
Through storm and shine, in the world's despite 
"When fools or quacks desired his vote, 
Dosed him with arguments, leara'd by rote, 



78 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Or by coaxing, threats, or promise, tried 
To gain his support to the wrongful side, 
"Nay, nay" said John, with an angry frown, 
" Your coin is spurious, nail it down." 

When told that kings had a right divine, 
And that the people were herds of swine, 
That the rich alone were fit to rule, 
That the poor were unimproved by school, 
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate 
Of all but the wealthy and the great, 
John shook his head, and swore, with a frown, 
" The coin is spurious, nail it down." 

When told that events might justify 

A false and crooked policy, 

That a decent hope of future good 

Might excuse departure from rectitude, 

That a lie, if white, was a small offence, 

To be forgiven by men of sense, 

" Nay, nay" said John, with a sigh and frown, 

" The coin is spurious, nail it down" 

When told from the pulpit or the press 
That Heaven was a place of exclusiveness, 
That none but those could enter there 
Who knelt with the " orthodox " at prayer, 
And held all virtues out of their pale 
As idle works of no avail, 

John's face grew dark, as he swore, with a frown, 
" The coin is spurious, nail it down." 



JOHN LITTLE JOHN. 70 

Whenever the world our eyes would blind 

With false pretences of such a kind, 

With humbug, cant, and bigotry, 

Or a specious, sham philosophy, 

With wrong dress'd up in the guise of right, 

And darkness passing itself for light, 

Let us imitate John, and exclaim, with a frown, 

" The coins are spurious, nail them down." 



^ftg^g^s^ 



80 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE POOR MAN'S BIRD. 

A year ago I had a child, 
A little daughter fair and mild ; 
More precious than my life to me, 
She sleeps beneath the churchyard tree. 
Oh ! she was good as she was fair, 
Her presence was like balmy air ; 
She was a radiance in my room, 
She was sunlight in my gloom. 

She loved thee well, thou little bird, 
Her voice and thine were ever heard ; 
They roused me when the morning shone, 
But now I hear thy voice alone. 
She call'd me gently to her side, 
Gave me her bird, and, smiling, died. 
Thou wert her last bequest to me ; 
I loved her fondly — I love thee. 

'Tis true, I often think it hard, 
Sweet lark, to keep thee here imbarr'd, 
Whilst thou art singing all day long, 
As if the fields inspired thy song, 




. \' 5 BIRD 



THE POOR MAN'S BIRD. 81 

As if the flowers, the woods, the streams, 
Were present in thy waking dreams ; 
But yet, how can I let thee fly? 
What couldst thou do with liberty? 

What couldst thou do ? — Alas, for me ! 
What should / do if wanting thee, 
Sole relic of my Lucy dear ? 
There needs no talk — thou'rt prisoner here. 
But I will make thy durance sweet, 
I'll bring thee turf to cool thy feet ; 
Fresh turf, with daisies tipped in pink, 
And water from the well to drink. 

I need thee. Were it not to choose, 
Ere sun shine dry the morning dews, 
Thy fresh green turf, I should not stray 
Out to the fields the live-long day ; 
I should be captive to the town, 
And waste my life in alleys brown ; 
Thy wants impel me to the sward, 
And Nature's face is my reward. 

Sweet bird, thou wakenest by thy song 
Bright memories and affections strong; 
At sight of thee I dream of flowers, 
And running streams, and branching bowers ; 
But most of her whose little face 
Was luminous with love and grace ; 
Thou art a link I may not break — 
I love thee for my Lucy's sake. 



82 VOICES FROM THE CROW©, 



UNKNOWN KOMANCE&, 



Oft have I wandered wlien the first faint light 

Of morning shone upon the steeple-vanes 
Of sleeping London, through the silent night, 

Musing on memories of joys and pains ; — 
And looking down long vistas of dim lanes 

And shadowy streets, one after other spread 
In endless coil, have thought what hopes now dead 

Once bloom'd in every house, what tearful rains 
Women have wept, for husband, sire, or son; 

What love and sorrow ran their course in each, 
And what great silent tragedies were done ; — 

And wish'd the dumb and secret walls had speech, 
That they might whisper to me, one by one, 

The sad true lessons that their walls might teach. 

II. 

Close and forgetful witnesses, they hide, 

In nuptial chamber, attic, or saloon, 
Many a legend sad of desolate bride, 

And mournful mother, blighted all too soonj 
Of strong men's agony, despair, and pride, 

And mental glory darken'd ere its noon. 



UNKNOWN ROMANCES. 83 

But let the legends perish in their place, 

For well I know where'er these walls have seen 
Humanity's upturn'd and heavenly face, 

That there has virtue, there has courage been ; — 
That e'en 'mid passions foul, and vices base, 

Some ray of goodness interposed between. 
Ye voiceless houses, ever as I gaze, 

This moral flashes from your walls serene. 



oO^O^ 



84 VOICES FKOM THE CROWD. 



THE FLOATING STRAW. 

A THOUGHT IN THE PANIC, 1847. 

The wild waves are my nightly pillows, 

Beneath me roll the Atlantic billows ; 

And as I rest on my couch of brine, 

I watch the eternal planets shine. 

Ever I ride 

On a harmless tide, 

Fearing nought — enjoying all things — 

Undisturb'd by great or small things. 

Alas ! for the lordly vessel 

That sails so gallantly ! 

The winds may dash it, 

The storms may wash it, 

The lightnings rend its tall masts three ; 

But neither the wind, nor the rain, nor the sea, 

Can injure me — can injure me ! 

The lightnings cannot strike me down, 

Whirlwinds wreck, or whirlpools drown ; 

And the ship to be lost ere the break of morn, 

May pass o'er my head in saucy scorn ; 



THE FLOATING STRAW. 85 

And when the Night unveils its face, 
I may float, unharm'd, in my usual place, 
And the ship may show to the pitying stars 
No remnant but her broken spars. 

Among the shells 
In the ocean dells 

The ships, the crews, and the captains lie; 
But the floating straw looks up to the sky. 
And the humble and contented man, 
Unknown to Fortune, escapes her ban, 
And rides secure when breakers leap, 
And mighty ships go down to the deep. 

May pleasant breezes waft them home 
That plough with their keels the driving foam! 
Heaven be their hope, and Truth their law ; — 
There needs no prayer for the floating straw! 



e-v£=<5**&#3 > =£L«-* 



86 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



A QUESTION ANSWERED. 

What to do to make thy fame 
Live beyond thee in the tomb? 

And thine honourable name 

Shine, a star, through History's gloom? 



Seize the Spirit of thy Time, 
Take the measure of his height, 

Look into his eyes sublime, 

And imbue thee with their light. 



Know his words e'er they are spoken, 
And with utterance loud and clear, 

Firm, persuasive, and unbroken, 
Breathe them in the people's ear. 



Think whate'er the spirit thinks, 
Feel thyself, whate'er he feels, 

Drink at fountains where he drinks, 
And reveal what he reveals. 



A QUESTION ANSWERED. 87 

And whate'er thy medium be, 

Canvas, stone, or printed sheet, 
Fiction, or philosophy, 

Or a ballad for the street ; 



Or, perchance, with passion fraught, 
Spoken words, like lightnings thrown, 

Tell the people all thy thought, 

And the world shall be thine own ! 



VOICES FROM THE CXiOWD. 



WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. 

What might be done if men were wise — ■ 
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, 

Would they unite, 

In love and right, 
And cease their scorn for one another? 

Oppression's heart might be imbued 

With kindling drops of loving-kindness, 

And Knowledge pour, 

From shore to shore, 
Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, 
All vice and crime might die together; 

And wine and corn, 

To each man born, 
Be free as warmth in summer weather. 

The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, 
Might stand erect, 
In self-respect, 
And share the teeming world to-morrow 



WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. 89 

What might be done 1 ? This might be done, 
And more than this, my suffering brother — 

More than the tongue 

Ever said or sung, 
If men were wise and loved each other. 



--?*3££s^a^*^5^ 



90 VOICES FROM THE CROW1 



THE MOWERS. 

AN ANTICIPATION OP THE CHOLERA, 1848. 

Dense on the stream the vapours lay, 
Thick as wool on the cold highway ; 
Spongy and dim, each lonely lamp 
Shone o'er the streets so dull and damp ; 
The moonbeam could not pierce the cloud 
That swathed the city like a shroud. 
There stood three Shapes on the bridge alone, 
Three figures by the coping-stone ; 
Gaunt, and tall, and undefined, 
Spectres built of mist and wind ; 
Changing ever in form and height, 
But black and palpable to sight. 

" This is a city fair to see," 
Whisper' d one of the fearful three ; 
"A mighty tribute it pays to me. 
Into its river, winding slow, 

Thick and foul from shore to shore, 
The vessels come, the vessels go, 

And teeming lands their riches pour 



THE MOWERS. 91 

It spreads beneath the murky sky 
A wilderness of masonry; 
Huge, unshapely, overgrown, 
Dingy brick and blacken'd stone. 
Mammon is its chief and lord, 
Monarch slavishly adored; 
Mammon sitting side by side 
With Pomp, and Luxury, and Pride ; 
Who calls his large dominion theirs, 
Nor dream a portion is Despair's. 



"Countless thousands bend to me 

In rags and purple, in hovel and hall, 

And pay the tax of Misery 

With tears, and blood, and spoken gall. 

Whenever they cry 

For aid to die, 

I give them courage to dare the worst, 

And leave their ban on a world accursed. 

I show them the river so black and deep, 

They take the plunge, they sink to sleep ; 

I show them poison, I show them rope, 

They rush to death without a hope. 

Poison, and rope, and pistol-ball, 

Welcome either, welcome all ! 

I am the lord of the teeming town — 

/ mow them down, I mow them down!" 



"Ay, thou art great, but greater I," 
The second spectre made reply ; 



92 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

" Thou rulest witli a frown austere, 
Thy name is synonym of Fear. 
But I, despotic and hard as thou, 
Have a laughing lip, an open brow. 
I build a temple in every lane, 

I have a palace in every street ; 
And the victims throng to the doors 
amain, 

And wallow like swine beneath my feet. 
To me the strong man gives his health, 
The wise man reason, the rich man 

wealth ', 
Maids their virtue, youth its charms, 
And mothers the children in their arms. 
Thou art a slayer of mortal men— 
Thou of the unit, I of the ten ; 
Great thou art, but greater I, 
To decimate humanity. 
'Tis / am the lord of the teeming town — 
/ mow them down, I mow them down /" 



"Vain boasters to exult at death," 

The third replied, " so feebly done ; 
I ope my jaws, and with a breath 

Slay thousands while you think of one. 
All the blood that Caesar spill' d, 

All that Alexander drew, 
All the hosts by 'glory' kill'd, 

From Agincourt to Waterloo, 
Compared with those whom I have slain, 
Are but a river to the main. 



THE MOWERS. 93 

"I brew disease in stagnant pools, 

And wandering here, disporting there, 

Favour'd much by knaves and fools, 
I poison streams, I taint the air; 

I shake from my locks the spreading Pest, 

I keep the Typhus at my behest ; 

In filth and slime 

I crawl, I climb ; — 

I find the workman at his trade, 

I blow on his lips, and down he lies ; 

I look in the face of the ruddiest maid, 
And straight the fire forsakes her eyes — 
She droops, she sickens, and she dies ; 

I stint the growth of babes new-born, 

Or shear them off like standing corn ; 

I rob the sunshine of its glow, 

I poison all the winds that blow ; 

Whenever they pass, they suck my breath, 

And freight their wings with certain death. 

'Tis / am the lord of the crowded town — 

/ mow them down, I mow them down ! 



"But great as we are, there cometh one 

Greater than you — greater than I, 
To aid the deeds that shall be done, 
To end the work that we've begun, 

And thin this thick humanity. 
I see his footmarks east and west, 

I hear his tread in the silence fall, 
He shall not sleep, he shall not rest — 

He comes to aid us one and all '■ 



94 VOICES FKOM THE CROWD. 

Were men as wise as men might be, 

They would not work for you, for me, 

For him that cometh over the sea ; 

But they will not heed the warning voice. 

The Cholera comes, rejoice ! rejoice ! 

He shall be lord of the swarming town, 

And mow them down, and mow them down I" 



-*S3S*8Ssi8|iSg< 



95 



SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I. 

I'm poor and quite unknown, 

I have neither fame nor rank; 
My labour is all I own, 

I have no gold at the bank; 
I'm one of the common crowd, 

Despised of the passers-by, 
Contemn'd of the rich and proud — 

Said I to myself, said I. 

I want, and I cannot obtain, 

The luxuries of the earth ; 
My raiment is scant and plain, 

And I live in the fear of dearth; 
While others can laugh or sing, 

I have ever some cause to sigh; 
I'm a weary wanderling — 

Said I to myself, said I. 

But is this grieving just 1 ? 

Is it wise to fret and wail 1 
Is it right, thou speck of dust, 

Thine envy should prevail? 



96 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Is it fitting thou shouldst close 
Thy sight to the sunny sky, 

And an utter dark suppose ? 
Said I to myself, said I. 



If poor, thou hast thy health ; 

If humble, thou art strong ; 
And the lark, that knows not wealth, 

Ever sings a happy song. 
The flowers rejoice in the air, 

And give thy needs the lie; — 
Thou'rt a fool to foster care, 

Said I to myself, said I. 

If the wants of thy pride be great, 

The needs of thy health are small, 
And the world is the man's estate 

Who can wisely enjoy it all. 
For him is the landscape spread, 

For him do the breezes ply, 
For him is the day-beam shed — 

Said I to myself, said I. 

For him are the oceans roll'd, 

For him do the rivers run, 
For him doth the year unfold 

Her bounties to the sun ; 
For him, if his heart be pure, 

Shall common things supply 
All pleasures that endure — 

Said I to myself, said L 



SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID I. 97 

For him each blade of grass 

Waves pleasure as it grows ; 
For him, as the light clouds pass, 

A spirit of beauty flows ; 
For him, as the streamlets leap, 

Or the winds on the tree-tops sigh, 
Comes a music sweet and deep — 

Said I to myself, said I. 

Nor of earth are his joys alone, 

How mean soever his state — 
On him from the starry zone 

His ministering angels wait ; 
With him in voiceless thought 

They hold communion high; 
By them are his fancies fraught — 

Said I to myself, said I. 

I will mould my life afresh, 

I will circumscribe desire ; 
Farewell to ye, griefs of flesh ! 

And let my soul aspire. 
I will make my wishes few, 

That my joys may multiply; 
Adieu, false wants, adieu !— 

Said I to myself, said I. 



VOICES FROM THE CROWD 



AN APPEAL TO PAEIS. 

1847. 

Beautiful Paris ! morning star of nations ! 

The Lucifer of cities, lifting high 

The beacon blaze of young democracy ! 

Medina and Gomorrha both in one — 

Medina of a high and holy creed 

To be developed in a coming time ! 

Gomorrha, rampant with all vice and guilt — 

Luxurious, godless, grovelling, soaring Paris, 

Laden with intellect, and yet not wise — 

Metropolis of satire and lampoon, 

Of wit, of elegance, of mirth, of song, 

And fearful tragedies done day by day, 

Which put our hair on end in the open streets — 

The busy hive of awful memories, 

The potent arbiter of popular will, 

The great electric centre whence the shocks 

Of pulsing freedom vibrate through the world — 

Beautiful Paris ! sacred to our hearts, 

With all thy folly, all thy wickedness — 

If but for Bailly, Yergniaud, Gensonne\, 

And noblest Poland, she of Bom an soul, 

And the great patriots and friends of man 

Who went to death for holy liberty — 



AN APPEAL TO PARIS. 99 

Lift up thy voice, O Paris! once again, 
And speak the thought that labours in thy breast ; 
Shake off thy gauds and tinsels — be thyself; 
Cease thy lewd jests, and heartless revelries, 
Thy adoration of all worthless things, 
Thy scorn, thy sarcasm, and thy unbelief; 
And in the conflict and the march of men 
Do justice to thy nature, and complete 
The glorious work, so gloriously begun 
By the great souls of pregnant eighty-nine. 
Come forth, oh, Paris! freed from vice and stain, 
Like a young warrior dallying too long 
With loving women, wasting precious hours 
In base delights and enervating sloth ; 
Who, when he shakes them off, puts back his hair 
From his broad brow, and places on his head 
The plumed helmet — throws his velvets off, 
And swathes his vigorous limbs in glancing steel, 
To lead true hearts to struggle for mankind. 
Or if no more, Soldier of Liberty! 
Thou 'It lead the nations — stand upon the hill, 
And, like a prophet, preach a holy creed 
Of freedom, progress, peace, and happiness ; 
And all the world shall listen to thy voice, 
And Tyranny, hyaena big with young, 
Dreading the sound, shall farrow in affright, 
And drop, still-born, her sanguinary cubs, 
And many a bloody feud be spared mankind. 
Poland again, with desperate grasp, shall seize 
The neck of her enslaver, and extort 
Full justice from his terror ; Hungary, 
ftrmined and crown' d, shall sit in her own seat 
h 2 



100 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

In peaceful state and sober majesty ; 

And Italy, unloosening her bonds 

By her strong will, shall be at last the home 

Of broadly based and virtuous liberty, 

And in her bosom nurture evermore, 

Not the fierce virtues of her Koman youth, 

But the calm blessings of her later time — 

Science, and art, and civilizing trade, 

Divine philosophy, diviner song, 

And true religion reconciled with man. 

Speak out; O Paris ! purify thyself 
By noble thoughts, and deeds will follow them. 
The world has need of thee. Humanity 
Droops for thy dalliance with degraded things, 
Alien, and most unworthy of the soul 
That sleeps within thee. Bouse thyself, Paris ! 
The time expects thee. Pyrenees, and Alps, 
And Appenines, and snow-clad Balkans, wait, 
"With all their echoes, to repeat the words 
Which thou must utter ! Thou hast slumber'd long — 
Long dallied. Speak ! The world will answer thee ! 



101 



THOUGHTS. 

True thoughts, your days of grief are done, 
No more shall scorn or hate impede you; — - 
Born in the light, where'er the sun 
Shines on mankind, mankind shall heed you* 

So grow, ye grains of mustard-seed, 

Grow each into a tree ; 

And kindle, sparks, to foeal-fires bright, 

That all the earth may see ; 

And spread, ye thoughts of Truth and Bight, 

O'er all humanity! 

Time was, when thoughts bore tears and death 
To the wise few that dared to raise them ; 
Time is, when thoughts are living breath, 
And the world's throbbing heart obeys them. 

So grow, ye grains of mustard-seed, 

Grow each into a tree ; 

And kindle, sparks, to beal-fires bright, 

That all the earth may see ; 

And spread, ye workers for the Bight, 

Onwards eternally i 



102 VOICES FROM TEE CROWD. 



CLEON AND I. 

Cleon hath a million acres, 

Ne'er a one have I ; 
Cleon dwelleth in a palace, 

In a cottage I ; 
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, 

Not a penny I : 
Yet the poorer of the twain is 

Cleon, and not I. 

Cleon, true, possesseth acres> 

But the landscape I ; 
Half the charms to me it yieldeth 

Money cannot buy ; 
Cleon harbours sloth and dulness, 

Freshening vigour I ; 
He in velvet, I in fustian — 

Richer man am I. 

Cleon is a slave to grandeur, 

Free as thought am I ; 
Cleon fees a score of doctors, 

Need of none have I; 



CLEON AND I. 103 

Wealth-surrounded, care-environ' d, 

Cleon fears to die ; 
Death may come, he'll find me ready; — 

Happier man am I. 

Cleon sees no charms in Nature, 

In a daisy I ; 
Cleon hears no anthems singing 

In the sea and sky ; 
Nature sings to me for ever, 

Earnest listener I ; 
State for state, with all attendants, 

Who would change 1 Not I. 



104 VOICES PROM THE CEOTCD. 



THE PHANTOMS OF ST. SEPULCHRE. 

[It may be necessary to inform the reader un acquainted 
with London, that the church of St. Sepulchre is close to the 
gaol of Newgate, and that its bell is tolled when a criminal is 
to be executed. Few will need to be reminded that the three 
stories related are not fabulous.] 

"Didst ever see a hanging?" — "No, not one, 

Nor ever wish to see such scandal done. 

But once I saw a wretch condemn'd to die : 

A lean-faced, bright-eyed youth, who made rne sigh 

At the recital of a dream he had. 

He was not sane, and yet he was not mad : 

Fit subject for a mesmerist he seem'd ; 

For when he slept, he saw; and when he dreamy 

His visions were as palpable to him 

As facts to us. My memory is dim 

Upon his story, but I'll ne'er forget 

The dream he told me, for it haunts me yet, 

Impress'd upon me by his earnest faith 

That 'twas no vision, but a sight which Death 



THE PHANTOMS OF ST. SEPULCHRE. 105 

Open'd his eyes to see, — an actual glimpse 
Into the world of spectres and of imps 
Vouchsafed to him on threshold of the grave. 
List ! and I'll give it in the words he gave : — 

"'Ay, you may think that I am crazed, 

But what I saw, that did I see. 

These walls are thick, my brain is sick, 

And yet mine eyes saw lucidly. 

Through the joists and through the stones 

I could look as through a glass : 

And, from this dungeon damp and cold, 

I watch'd the motley people pass. 

All day long, rapid and strong, 

Roll'd to and fro the living stream ; 

But in the night I saw a sight — 

I cannot think it was a dream. 

" < Old St. Sepulchre's bell will toll 

At eight to-morrow for my soul j 

And thousands, not much better thai I, 

Will throng around to see me die ; 

And many will bless their happy fate 

That they ne'er fell from their high estate, 

Or did such deed as I have done ; 

Though, from the rise to the set of sun, 

They cheat their neighbours all their days, 

And gather gold in slimy ways. 

But my soul feels strong, and my sight grows clear, 

As my death-hour approaches near, 

And in its presence I will tell 

The very truth, as it befell. 



106 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

" ' The snow lies thick on the house-tops cold, 

Shrill and keen the March winds blow ; 

The rank grass of the churchyard mould 

Is cover'd o'er with drifted snow ; 

The graves in old St. Sepulchre's yard 

Were white last night when I look'd forth, 

And the sharp clear stars seem'd to dance in the sky, 

Rock'd by the fierce winds of the north. 

"'The houses dull seem'd numb with frost, 

The streets seem'd wider than of yore, 

And the straggling passengers trod, like ghosts, 

Silently on the pathway frore ; 

When I look'd through that churchyard rail, 

And thought of the bell that should ring my doom, 

And saw three women, sad and pale, 

Sitting together on a tomb. 

" ' A fearful sight it was to see, 

As up they rose and look'd at me. 

Sunken were their cheeks and eyes ; 

Blue-cold were their feet, and bare ; 

Lean and yellow were their hands; 

Long and scanty was their hair ; 

And round their necks I saw the ropes 

Deftly knotted, tightly drawn ; 

And knew they were not things of earth, 

Or creatures that could face the dawn. 

" ' Seen dimly in the uncertain light, 
They multiplied upon my sight ; 
And things like men and women sprung- 
Shapes of those who had been hung — 



THE PHANTOMS OF ST. SEPULCHRE, 107 

From the rank and clammy ground. 

I counted them — I knew them all, 

Each with its rope around its neck, 

Marsh all' d by the churchyard wall. 

The stiff policeman, passing along, 

Saw them not, nor made delay ; 

A reeling bacchanal, shouting a song, 

Look'd at the clock and went his way ; 

A troop of girls with painted cheeks, 

Laughing and yelling in drunken glee, 

Pass'd like a gust, and never look'd 

At the sight so palpable to me. 

I saw them — heard them — felt their breath 

Musty and raw and damp as death ! 

" ' These women three, these fearful shapes, 

Look'd at me through Newgate stone, 

And raised their fingers, skinny and lank, 

Whispering low in under-tone : — 

1 His hour draws near, — he 's one of us, — 

His gibbet is built, — his noose is tied ; 

They have put his name on the coffin-lid : 

The law of blood shall be satisfied. 

He shall rest with us, and his name shall be 

A by-word and a mockery.' 

"'I whisper'd to one, 'What hast thou done?' 
She answer'd, whispering, and I heard — 
Although a chime rang at the time — 
Every sentence, every word, 
Clear above the pealing bells : — 
i I was mad, and slew my child ; 



108 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Better than life, God knows, I loved it ; 

But pain and hunger drove me wild, 

Scorn and hunger, and grief and care ; 

And I slew it in my despair. 

And for this deed they raised the gibbet ; 

For this deed the noose they tied ; 

And I hung and swung in the sight of men, 

And the law of blood was satisfied.' 



"'I said to the second, 'What didst thou?' 

Her keen eyes flash'd unearthly shine. 

'I married a youth when I was young, 

And thought all happiness was mine ; 

But they stole him from me to fight the French ; 

And I was left in the world alone, 

To beg or steal, to live or die, 

Robb'd of my stay, my all, my own, 

England stole my lord from me, — 

I stole a ribbon, was caught and tried ; 

And I hung and swung in the sight of men, 

And the law of blood was satisfied.' 



"'1 said to the third, 'What crime was thine?' 

' Crime !' she answer'd, in accents meek, 

* The babe that sucks at its mother's breast, 

And smiles with its little dimpled cheek, 

Is not more innocent than I. 

But truth was feeble, — error was strong ; 

And guiltless of a deed of shame, 

Men's justice did me cruel wrong. 



THE PHANTOMS OF ST. SEPULCHRE, 109 

They would not hear my truthful words : 
They thought me fill'd with stubborn pride ; 
And I hung and swung in the sight of men, 
And the law of blood was satisfied.' 

"'Then one and all, by that churchyard wall, 

Raised their skinny hands at me ; 

Their voices mingling like the sound 

Of rustliug leaves in a withering tree : 

' His hour has come, he's one of us ; 

His gibbet is built, his noose is tied ; 

His knell shall riug, and his corpse shall swing, 

And the law of blood shall be satisfied.' 

" ' They vanish'd ! I saw them, one by one, 

With their bare blue feet on the drifted snow 

Sink like a thaw, when the sun is up, 

To their wormy solitudes below. 

Though you may deem this was a dream, 

My facts are tangible facts to me ; 

For the sight glows clear as death draws near 

And looks into futurity.'" 



110 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 



THE LITTLE MOLES. 

"When grasping tyranny offends, 

Or angry bigots frown ; 
When rulers plot, for selfish ends, 

To keep the nations down ; 
When statesmen form unholy league 

To drive the world to war ; 
When, knaves in palaces intrigue 

For ribbons or a star — 
We raise our heads, survey their deeds, 

And cheerily reply, 
Grub, little moles, grub under ground, 

There 's sunshine in the shy. 

When canting hypocrites combine 

To curb a free man's thought, 
And hold all doctrine undivine 

That holds their canting nought ; 
When round their narrow pale they plod, 

And scornfully assume 
That all without are cursed of God, 

And justify the doom, — 
We think of God's eternal love, 

And strong in hope reply, 
Grub, little moles, grub under ground, 

There 's sunshine in the sky. 



THE LITTLE MOLES. Ill 

When greedy authors wield the pen 

To please the vulgar town, 
Depict great thieves as injured men 

And heroes of renown ; 
Pander to prejudice unclean, 

Apologize for crime, 
And daub the vices of the mean 

"With flattery like slime ; 
For Milton's craft, for Shakspere's tongue 

We blush, but yet reply — 
Grub, little moles, grub under ground, 

There's sunshine in the shy. 



When smug philosophers survey 

The various climes of earth, 
And mourn, poor sagelings of a day ! 

Its too prolific birth; 
And prove by figure, rule, and plan, 

The large fair world too small 
To feed the multitudes of man 

That flourish on its ball ; 
We view the vineyards on the hills, 

Or corn-fields waving hio-h ; — 
Grub, little moles, grub under ground, 

There's sunshine in the sky. 



When men complain of humankind 

In misanthropic mood, 
And thinking evil things, grow blind 

To presence of the good ; 



112 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

When, wall'd in prejudices strong, 

They urge that evermore 
The world is fated to go wrong 

For going wrong before, — 
We feel the truths they cannot feel, 

And smile as we reply, 
Grub, little moles, grub under ground, 

There' 's sunshine in the sky. 



<r^£*&&&e&r2l^-> 



113 



LET US ALONE. 

Many — and yet our fate is one, 

And little after all we crave — 
Enjoyment of the common sun, 

Fair passage to the common grave; 
Our bread and fire, our plain attire, 

The free possession of our own. 
Rulers be wise ! and kings and czars, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 

"We have a faith, we have a law; 

A faith in God, a hope in man ; 
And own, with reverence and awe, 

Love universal as His plan. 
To Charity we bow the knee, 

The earth's refiner and our own. 
Bigots, and fighters about words, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 

The world is the abode of men, 

And not of demons stark and blind ; 

And Eden's self might bloom again, 
If men did justice to mankind. 
I 



114 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

We want no more of Nature's store, 
Than Nature meant to be our own. 

Masters and gerents of the earth, 
Let us alone — let us alone. 

Your meddling brought us grief and care, 

And added misery day by day; 
We're not so foolish as we were, 

Nor fashion'd of such ductile clay; 
Your petty jars, your wicked wars, 

Have lost their charm, the gilding 's gone : 
Victorious marshals, vaulting kings, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 

Though dwellers in a little isle, 

We bear no hate to other lands, 
And think that Peace on earth might smile 

If we and others join'd our hands. 
In Reason's spite why should we fight? 

We'll war no more — we're wiser grown. 
Quibblers and stirrers up of hate, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 

White man or black, to us alike; 

Foemen of no men we will live, 
We will not lift our hands to strike, 

Or evil for advantage give. 
Our hands are free to earn their fee, 

Our tongues to let the truth be known; 
So despots, knaves, and foes of right, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 



LET US ALONE. 



115 



Great are our destinies : our task, 

Long since begun, shall never end 
While suffering has a boon to ask, 

Or truth needs spokesmen to defend ; 
While vice or crime pollute the time, 

While nations bleed, or patriots groan. 
Rulers be wise ! and meddling fools, 

Let us alone — let us alone. 



txt^cy^i^XD^s^-* 



116 VOICES FHOM THE CHOWD. 



ETERNAL JUSTICE. 

The man is thought a knave, or fool, 

Or bigot, plotting crime, 
Who, for the advancement of his kind, 

Is wiser than his time. 
For him the hemlock shall distil; 

For him the axe be bared ; 
For him the gibbet shall be built; 

For him the stake prepared. 
Him shall the scorn and wrath of men 

Pursue with deadly aim ; 
And malice, envy, spite, and lies, 

Shall desecrate his name. 
But Truth shall conquer at the last, 

For round and round we run ; 
And ever the Right comes uppermost, 

And ever is Justice done. 

Pace through thy cell, old Socrates, 
Cheerily to and fro; 



ETERNAL JUSTICE. 117 

Trust to the impulse of thy soul, 

And let the poison flow. 
They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay 

That holds a light divine, 
But they cannot quench the fire of thought 

By any such deadly wine. 
They cannot blot thy spoken words 

From the memory of man 
By all the poison ever was brew'd 

Since time its course began. 
To-day abhorr'd, to-morrow adored, 

So round and round we run; 
And ever the Truth comes uppermost, 

And ever is Justice done. 



Plod in thy cave grey anchorite ; 

Be wiser than thy peers; 
Augment the range of human power, 

And trust to coming years. 
They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed, 

And load thee with dispraise ; 
Thou wert born five hundred years too soon 

For the comfort of thy days ; 
But not too soon for humankind. 

Time hath reward in store ; 
And the demons of our sires become 

The saints that we adore. 
The blind can see, the slave is lord, 

So round and round we run ; 
And ever the wrong is proved to be wrong, 

And ever is Justice done. 



118 VOICES FROM THE CROWD. 

Keep, Galileo, to thy thought, 

And nerve thy soul to bear; 
They may gloat o'er the senseless words they 
wring 

From the pangs of thy despair ; 
They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide 

The sun's meridian glow ; 
The heel of a priest may tread thee down, 

And a tyrant work thee woe ; 
But never a truth has been destroy'd; 

They may curse it and call it crime ; 
Pervert and betray, or slander and slay, 

Its teachers for a time ; 
But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, 

As round and round we run ; 
And the Truth shall ever come uppermost, 

And Justice shall be done. 



And live there now such men as these— 

With thoughts like the great of old? 
Many have died in their misery, 

And left their thought untold; 
And many live, and are rank'd as mad, 

And placed in the cold world's ban, 
For sending their bright far-seeing souls 

Three centuries in the van. 
They toil in penury and grief, 

Unknown, if not malign'd ; 
Forlorn, forlorn, hearing the scorn 

Of the meanest of mankind! 



ETERNAL JUSTICE. 119 

But yet the world goes round and round, 

And the genial seasons ruu ; 
And ever the Truth conies uppermost, 

And ever is Justice done. 



THE END. 



PRINTED BV COX AND Wi'MAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON. 



tii ft i 



r < 



;->.U 




Wm 



iJbPHIm 

am HmM mm 

■■■V 



i iHH 

TOM 



WJMt 




11111 

IIhHM 




■■I 



